Brought to the Island
by shadow on my window shade
Summary: Adrift in what can only be described as "the aftermath," a shattered Richard Alpert is buffeted yet again when a strange wind carries either his salvation or his downfall to the island in a hot air balloon.  Begins with an alternate ending.
1. The Hot Air Balloon

**Preface (a.k.a.: Disclaimer):** The following was conceived and begun at a time before the LOST series finale. I just couldn't wait. Obviously, at the time I had no idea how everything is going to turn out, and I'm presently in the process of going back and altering a few elements that I fell are better kept in agreement with the canon.

However, there are some directions I had taken the plot of this story that could not be altered, and some decisions I could not un-make. Therefore, this story is somewhat AU. For new readers, and old ones who have gone back for any reason, here are a few introductory points I feel I should make in order for the AU details to be more clear. The best way to explain is to go character-by-character...

**Jacob:** Dead.

**Richard Alpert:** Our protagonist. With Jacob dead, Richard lingers at the crossroads between faith and despair, and possibly at the edge of his mental-emotional capacity to deal with it all.

**Jack Shepard: **Jack is, for lack of a better way to describe him, the new Jacob. In addition to dealing with new, demi-godlike abilities, Jack is still the corporal leader of the "tribe." But without a clear understanding of Jacob's world, he feels compelled to prove his authority.

**The Man in Black:** Jacob is dead, but the MIB remains on the Island, plotting his next move.

**Ben Linus: **Ben has struck it alone, dealing with his own existential crisis. He is unaligned, but also unredeemed, and, as usual, not to be trusted.

* * *

**Brought to the Island**

**Chapter One**

The Hot Air Balloon

When the hot air balloon first appeared on the dawning horizon, there was hardly one awake to see it. For all intents and purposes purposes, the Island itself was very soundly asleep. The crash of waves on the sand was like a rhythmic snoring. Perhaps the hot air balloon itself was only a dream.

Of course, it was still very dark. Had anyone been awake when the balloon twinkled into existence, he or she would have likely mistaken the pinpoint of light from the propane tank for a star. But even then it was barely visible and in all probability it would have remained unnoticed altogether.

Still, there exists an ancient question regarding one's relative presence to unseen and sometimes unfathomable events: If a tree falls in the forest, and one does not witness it, does it make any sound? Does the tree, in fact, exist? A certain well-respected and perspicacious French philosopher once argued, "Well, shucks, I suppose it depends on whether the tree grew on an particular island in the South Pacific. Golly."

The balloon floated closer to the Island. And soon no one living there would be able to argue the existential semantics of its existence. It was indeed very real.

Jack Shepard was the first to be roused from his sleep. His eyes opened and adjusted slowly to the dawn creeping through the seams of his tent. He was not yet aware of the balloon. At least, not consciously. Despite his ignorance, he did awake with a faint sense that _something_ was about to happen, as if on the tip of his tongue. Minutes passed, the light intensified, and bird calls grew shrill.

In one motion, he sat upright, bursting through the tent flaps with wild eyes. By now, the balloon and its basket were distinct from one another above the rolling ocean.

Jack began to sound the alarm...

**...L O S T...**

The first to hear Jack was Richard, who had been going in and out of a fitful sleep, full of fragmented dreams like shards of glass that would fade and blend into their surroundings the moment he woke, as glass is wont to do. The moments he retained lasted less than seconds, condensing as drops of sweat on his brow: a woman's hand, a man dressed in black... It was much darker in his own tent of high quality, military grade canvas, and when he awoke, he was unconvinced that morning had at last come. Stepping outside was necessary to prove it, and he winced as the morning sun stung his eyes.

"Jack?"

Jack responded by pointing to the sky, his arm so taught that Richard could literally read the line of thought connecting his brain to the tip of his finger, and the message was that all hell was ready to break loose. That something that should not have been happening was happening. Richard's eyes followed the line to the balloon itself, which by now was only half as pregnant with air as it ought to have been. He could make out two figures flailing desperately in the basket, and the faintest notes of their cry for help.

"Oh my God," Richard gasped as he ducked back into his tent to throw on some more clothing than what he had worn to sleep.

By now, others were appearing on the beach. He caught a glimpse of Hurley running to Jack's side, with Sawyer immediately behind. Richard stumbled out onto the sand, still barefoot and his shirt half unbuttoned. Sun and Jin, who were joining at only a marginally less frantic pace, and even then only marginally so, paused in front of him and asked if he knew what was happening. He used his nose to point overhead, hands failing to grasp a button in the middle of his shirt.

The balloon was directly over them. The three stood perfectly still, forming a neat triangle, as it eclipsed the sun, covering them with a wide black spotlight. Richard watched with round eyes, utterly stupefied.

"How is this possible? Are there people in there?" Sun asked, though it was rhetorical question.

"I saw two," Richard replied. His mouth was already dry.

The balloon continued to sink, though not meeting the pace of its drift across the beach, and so began to race to catch it. Jack easily took the lead, due as much to his natural speed as to it being his proper role. Sand began to spray in every direction as a battalion of feet pounded the beach. Shaking the last of the sleep from his mind like a cobweb, Richard fell into rank. He could now make out that two figures in the basket were a young man and woman, with similar tan skin and dark hair. But their voices were not so easy to discern. "Land! ...Land!" was the only word he could understand, even though they were screaming, their faces red with desperation. Above them, the propane flame wagged from side-to-side, as the riders called for help from all directions.

"What are they saying?" This question came from several directions, from as many lips, and through as many gasps for breath; but it was Hurley, who had fallen behind, who was hardly running at all, who rung above them all at the top of his voice, "They don't know how to land!"

Though it took a few false starts, Richard peeled his gaze away from the bottom of the basket. The circle of shade continued onward, once again revealing a morning sky so bright that his eyes watered. He looked over his shoulder and stopped running, pacing a wide circle, and waited for Hurley to catch up.

"What do you mean, they can't land?" he asked.

Hurley hesitated for a moment, his eyes darting from side to side, which usually prefaced something he was uncomfortable saying aloud. When he did speak, his words were slow and heavy with uncharacteristic gravity. "Their pilot's dead, man. I think he's still in the basket."

"What?" Richard gasped, though he might not have been so surprised. He was, after all, _in the know_ regarding Hurley's gift. They shared a personal connection. A secret, in actuality.

All Hurley seemed able to do was nod. Taking in a deep preparatory breath, he started off again, jogging in the sand while the others ran. "Does anyone know how to land a hot air balloon?"

Richard looked around, his skin crawling a little at the thought of a nearby ghost. By now, he had fallen too far behind Jack to match him, but he ran after the group nevertheless, quickly passing Hurley with a somewhat apologetic glance over his shoulder.

The balloon, despite its inept passengers, was sinking of its own accord. Slowly, yes, and almost undetectably, but still sinking. This he could tell by the fact that the features of the two aboard were slowly coming into focus, red-faced and disheveled with panic. He could even see something fall from the basket, though he could not tell what right away. It was something small and thin, and reflective. It glittered as it fell and made a little explosion in the sand when it landed on the beach.

Richard stopped to pick it up. It was a pair of glasses, thick lenses, with sand clinging to the frame like jimmies on an ice cream cone where it was still wet with sweat.

He dropped them into his breast pocket.

Taking up again, and realizing he was at last fully awake, Richard fought his way to the middle of the group, out of the sand and into the flora. He shortly found himself beside Jack, which was startling, considering how far back he had fallen. But everyone was slowing down. They were coming to a full halt. All eyes were pointed heavenward as the balloon reached the perimeter of the jungle, arcing above them as each head turned in unison. It struck a tree. There was a terrifying snap, and the woman aboard screamed.

Silence followed. The utter lack of sound rang in Richard's ears as the balloon clung to the jungle wall like a bubble that ought to have popped. Eyes moved back and forth among each other, wordlessly communicating the same questions. A few birds darted out of the trees and flew to faraway safety. The flap of their wings was the first to break the silence. Slowly, Richard's shoulders dropped, accompanied by a twinge in his neck. He had not realized he had been holding them so tensely.

Hurley, at considerable length, spoke. "So... um... maybe they should turn the flame off... or something?"

There was a low murmur of agreement, but no voice rose above the crowd. All eyes had turned to Jack. All but Richard, who had begun to cross to the other side the gathering, out of the shadow the basket, craning his neck and squinting his eyes as he stepped into the sun. From here, there was a clearer view of the riders, and he noted more traits that they shared: a sinewy build, a strong chin and nose, although the man more so on both counts. Richard watched them react as Jack called up about the propane tank, the man turning immediately and beginning the work on the valve, while the woman assisted with pointing and similar gestures. A few seconds passed and the fire began to shrink. The balloon followed in turn, the top caving in upon itself. But it did not fall. It was tangled in the tree branches, soon hanging from them like a lifeless marionette. Another patch of silence followed.

"Now what?" someone asked, and several voices echoed.

"They're stuck," said Sun, followed by another chain of similar statements. Richard also noticed some quick, undecipherable Korean.

"How do we get them down?"

By now, Richard had become aware of a heavy feeling in the pit of his stomach. His pulse seemed more prominent within his chest, as though his heart had pressed itself against the shelter of his sternum. He rolled his shoulders back. When Jin appeared beside him, it gave him a start.

"I am not the only one who has a bad feeling about this, am I?" asked Jin, his jaw tense.

"No," Richard replied. "You're not." His eyes drifted in Jack's direction, who was instructing the two aboard to throw down their _landing ropes_. Hurley stood beside him, transmitting directions from an unseen force. A chill ran up Richard's spine.

Miles, who had been standing nearby, eavesdropping, took a few steps to close the gap. "This doesn't make any sense, right? This shouldn't be happening." He leaned in and lowered his voice, "I mean, and correct me if I'm wrong, but there's not exactly a history of people just stumbling upon the Island."

"You'd be surprised, actually," Richard replied dryly.

"How did they get out this far?" asked Jin. "They don't even know how to land."

"Hurley said their pilot was dead," answered Richard.

Miles's eyes flew back to the balloon with peaked interest. "Dead?" Then his gaze dropped to Hurley and he shrugged. "Well, he would know, wouldn't he."

"I guess so..." Richard took a step forward, his eyes widening in turn as he watched the man begin to climb out of the basket, wrapping his arms and legs around the rope he had thrown down seconds before. The area beneath the balloon began to clear as everyone stepped out of the way.

Jin's hands flew upward. "What are we doing?" There was growing frustration in his voice as he demanded attention. A few turned around, startled. He returned to his wife's side and began to speak in Korean.

When the man was half-way down, the woman began her descent, gripping the rope so tightly that her hands turned the color of bone. At the top, she lingered, waiting for the man to safely reach the sand, her eyes locked on the ground below, pulling sharp breaths through clenched teeth. As she shivered in fear, the rope gyrated haphazardly, anchored only by the weight of the man below. She squeezed her eyes shut and held the rope somehow even more desperately

The man let go and landed in a crouch, taking a moment to balance before rising. At his full height, he was taller than he had seemed overhead, well over six feet, subjectively handsome, with a muddled ethnicity about his features: not just tanned, but olive-skinned, with large dark eyes and a thick neck; and yet, there seemed to be nothing very remarkable about him. That was the best way Richard felt he could describe it. The man's stare was hollow and his stance somewhat hunched, but perhaps it was the his hands that bespoke more. They were thick, over-sized, and the way they hung low, close to his knees, reminded Richard of a Neanderthal.

Looped over his broad shoulders was a school bag, or backpack: not just dirty, but encrusted with patches of ancient mud. When the man reached for it, _strained _for it, a cloud of dust arose. He pulled through one lunkish arm, then the other, moving with haste, his eyes suddenly wild, glancing only momentarily at the woman above him.

And what followed happened so quickly, it left Richard with the distinct impression that he was somehow still dreaming.

It began with Jin yelling for everything to stop, half in English, half in Korean. It was possible that he was shouting at Jack, specifically. Miles dove out of the way as Jin blasted through the crowd, catching Richard's shoulder and sending them both, Miles and Richard, sprawling into the brush. As he peeled his face from the dew-covered leaves, someone in the group began to scream. A woman. It wasn't until Richard was up on his knees that he realized it was Sun begging her husband to stop. Her bare feet passed as she chased after him.

With visible terror collecting in pale patches across his face, the man from the balloon threw the backpack into the air as Jin sent him to the ground. They fell together as a tangled mess of arms and legs, Jack struggling to pull them apart, but with Sun between them it was impossible to get a hold on anyone. Jin's shill cry of "Gun... gun..." rang above it all.

It was Sawyer Richard saw enter next, an iron-clad look of grudging determination on his face, as he tackled Jin at ramming speed, throwing Sun into Jack's protective arms. He pinned Jin to the ground, the air expelling from his lungs with a painful sounding burst. The earth itself seemed to shudder. The atmospheric shock that followed was broken as the woman overhead, still dangling from the rope, began to scream.

The man from the balloon did not rise. He did not move. Richard realized he was holding his breath, as the words, "Oh shit..." got caught along the dry wall of his throat.

His mind lagged as he found himself running to the man's limp body. Jack passed Sun to Hurley, who brought her to Jin's side. Sawyer offered them all a cold stare, "Some welcome wagon..."

"He has a gun," Jin panted.

The man's eyes were closed, his mouth hanging open. A red welt had appeared on his forehead and began to trickle blood. Jack was already upon him, pressing his fingers against the man's neck. He dropped an ear to his chest.

"Is he dead?" Richard asked.

"No. No, he's not dead."

Richard picked up the backpack, turning it over and over as he struggled to locate the zipper beneath the muddy crust. Once open, he began to dig, dropping items on the ground as they passed inspection: an empty water bottle, an off-brand MP3 player, a wallet, in which Richard found an Idaho state driver's license with a picture of the man and the name Adam Joseph Riddle. This, he passed to Jack.

"No gun?" Jack asked, the answer to which he already seemed to know.

"No gun."

"What do you think he was reaching for?"

Richard shrugged. "You should ask him when he comes to." He turned from Jack to Jin, he met Sawyer's steely eye, and spotted Miles has he brushed scraped hands against his pants. He looked down at his own palms are saw they were speckled with blood, as well. Immediately, they began to sting.

Above them, the woman continued to scream. "Please don't hurt him! Please!"

Her entire body was wrapped around the rope, clutching every fiber that might support her, as she dangled thirty feet over everyone's heads. Richard motioned for the gathering spectators to move aside, though it was more of a glare than a gesture. "Can you climb down?" he asked, taking a position where he could better see her face. The woman's eyes were so tightly shut that her browline seemed to be grazing her cheek bones. A drop of water fell on to Richard's face as he craned his neck, a drop that may have been a tear or bead of sweat, or both combined.

"Please don't hurt him!" she repeated.

Out of the corner of his eye, Richard watched Sawyer shift his weight and Jin lift his head. Over his shoulder, Jack continued his attempts to revive Adam Riddle. "He's going to be fine. Are you able to climb down?"

"I think-" Though still cringing, her face completely contorted, the woman attempted to nod. Her legs loosened as she steeled her shoulders, lowering one hand, then the other. "I think so-"

And then she slipped.

Suddenly, she was a foot closer to the ground, through no effort of her own. The basket above them shuddered, the rope swayed in every direction, like an animal attempting to shake her free. A collective gasp and scream echoed off the trees. Blood began to seep through her clenched fingers. It trickled down and wrapped around her wrist like a bracelet.

"Shit!" Richard gasped, though he was unsure if the word escaped his lips or was merely an explosion of terror in his own brain. "Okay, you need to let go!"

His arms were already outstretched. The woman sucked in a shallow breath, her bare arms tensing as she dug her nails into the rope.

"I'm going to catch you! Just let go!"

She turned her face back to the balloon. For a moment, it seemed as if she was seriously considering climbing back into the basket.

"I promise I will catch you!"

His words shot upward like from the barrel a gun, a bullet to sever her attachment to the rope, to the safety net above her. The woman squeezed her eyes shut. Her lips mouthed a short prayer. And then she let go.

Dropping down to one knee, and taking less than a second to wipe the collecting blood and sweet from his palm, Richard held out his arms as far as they could stretch. She fell into them neatly. A rushed study of her red, tear-streaked face revealed a purple-ish depression on either side of her nose where a pair of glasses had recently sat. She stared back at him with dilated pupils, floating in a wide sea of red-threaded white. A second later, those same eyes rolled backward. She began to shiver

Instead of standing her on her feet, he gently lowered her onto the sand. And no sooner had the beach accepted her quivering form, than she passed out entirely. To Richard, it seemed as if she had fallen asleep.

"I think she's in shock," he said out loud to no one in particular.

But Jack happened to be listening. While his back was turned, Richard had missed the entirety of Adam Riddle's fate. They had dragged his body, still unconscious, to a tree, propping him up with his hands pulled to the other side. Producing a pocket knife, assumedly from the muddy backpack, Jack sliced off a portion of the dangling rope and began to unravel the cords.

"What are you doing?" asked Richard.

"She's not in shock. But Jin is right... we don't know who they are." Reaching down, Jack attempted to pull the woman up by her shoulder. Richard stayed his hand.

"But they're already unconscious."

"They won't stay that way."

"What?" Richard rose to his feet, their eyes meeting as Jack wrapped a portion of rope around his forearm. Jack cast a directional glance towards Jin. At attempt at something apologetic, Richard wondered, but he found himself stepping aside and making a path for Jack to return to Adam's limp body.

A moment later, Richard realized he had begun carrying to woman to a separate tree. He lifted her by the armpits so that her back was aligned with the truck. Her head rolled down to her chest. Using his fingertips, he guided it to a more comfortable position against her shoulder.

Jack separated the cords of the rope and handed off half to the others. They set to the task of binding the man's hands. He walked back to Richard and the woman, and knelt down behind the tree. With a brief nod, he stretched out the rope. "Alright..."

Assuming this was his signal, Richard took her hands by the wrists and folded them around the tree until they met on the opposite side. He leaned in close so that he could continue to hold them as Jack worked. Nose-to-nose with her, he could smell with seemed like a generous portion of sunblock, mixed with salt from the ocean air and sweat from a arduous journey. Over her shoulder, Jack pulled the rope tight, so tight that her body jerked, and Richard turned his gaze aside.

Jack finished and stepped away, brushing the dirt from his palms with a sigh of what could only be described as defeat. Richard rocked back on his heels and lingered a moment longer. Reaching into his breast pocket, he pulled out the fallen glasses. He brushed off the little sand that was willing to release its hold, unfolded them, and slipped them back onto the woman's face.


	2. Who

**Chapter Two**

Who

Richard shook his head, rising to his feet and pacing away from, well, everything. The shade of the jungle trees enveloped him and no one followed. No person. Like a conscious entity, a creeping sensation on the back of his neck grew more intense. His skin itched and his shoulders were heavy, in the way one's body unconsciously reacts to being spied on. Richard fought the impulse to swat at the nothing hanging on his back.

He had decidedly wasted time returning glasses to an unconscious woman. He frowned to himself, casting a sideways look at Jack, who was busy tending to her equally inanimate ballooning partner, or husband, or whoever the hell he was-whoever the hell either of them were. He watched Jack examine the cut on the man's limp head, which rolled from shoulder to shoulder like a child's doll.

The man could not yet have been thirty. He had full features, a strong jaw, and a thick neck. He was handsome, though perhaps a little Richard thought of as "on the pretty side," and that was not exactly a compliment. Aside from that, his hair was matted with sweat and filled with sand; his skin was blotchy, scraped, and dirty; but all these thoughts were a long way from Richard's consciousness. Immediate was his attention to the attending physician.

The New Jacob.

Jack had stepped into fill what Richard had begun to refer to as The Void. He had been proven to be "the chosen one". What that meant, exactly, was assumingly yet to be revealed, or so Richard assumed. Perhaps it was too soon for anyone to know. But there had been no ceremony, no great event, no signal of a change in anyone's life; the doctor had simply been _chosen_. He had won.

And Richard, like everyone else who had ended up not being "the chosen one," just _remained_.

He approached Jack with a short, quick march.

"Is he all right?" he asked, the little concern he truly felt almost imperceptible.

"I won't really know until he wakes up," replied Jack, focused on his patient.

"Then we have a few minutes."

Jack looked up with a quizzical tilt of his head.

"We should talk." Richard's voice had fallen back into its usual even tone, in spite of the turmoil within and the nothingness hanging on his back like an albatross. Controlled as ever, he walked a few paces into the jungle, and waited.

Jack followed willingly, but not quite so composed. The eyes of the crowd on the beach followed with unfiltered curiosity, concern, and low brows of distrust. Richard tried to ignore it, tried to pretend that he was still someone to be listened to, rather than a detached limb that Jacob had left behind.

"Talk about what... exactly?" asked Jack, raising his hands to his hips.

Richard did not reply right away. Instead, he held Jack's gaze with a firm grip, waiting for him to realize for himself what needed to be explained. A few more precious seconds passed. No attempt to begin was made. So, he gestured to the new arrivals with a sharp motion of his head. "Did you do this?"

Now it was Jack who held his tongue. His jaw clenched, his pupils narrowed. When he finally spoke, it was with a step to close the little space between them. "Do what?" he replied, though in such a manner that was more intended to reveal that he knew precisely what Richard meant, and that he was prepared to ridicule the accusation.

"Did you bring them here?"

"...No. No, I didn't."

Another sideways glance. "Are you certain?"

"What reason could I have?"

"Other than the fact that you're the only one on this island with the ability to do it?"

Jack's nostrils flared. He took another step toward Richard, who held his ground, who refused to even bend his gaze, let alone break it. Jack opened his mouth, but before he could speak, Kate, who had been keeping a close watch on the balloonatics, started to call out for attention.

The woman was awake.

Both men hurried to the tree where she was tied, dispersing the crowd that had gathered round. Jack dropped down to his knees, placing a hand on the woman's arm to facilitate her recovery, and partially to make sure she did not dislocate her shoulders once she was fully aware of being tied to a tree. Her eyes rolled aimlessly as she struggled to shake off a blanket of torpor. Then she convulsed with a jolt, and Jack was prepared to hold her firmly to the ground.

The most expected questions were the ones first asked. Where was she, who were they, what was going on? Why the hell was she tied to a tree? Jack refused to answer any of them. He only returned the volley.

"What is your name?"

"...Olivia. Riddle. Olivia Riddle."

Her eyes jumped from person to person. Her cheeks were flushed, but the color had drained from every other corner of her face. Richard took up a station at a nearby tree, leaning his shoulder against it as he watched, stepping aside in silent acknowledgement that Jack had the current situation under control. What Jack was, was a good doctor: he was caring, he was patient-Richard, a little less so these days.

Jack glided his fingertips up and down the length of her arm, to calm her, Richard assumed. Or maybe to make sure she had not hurt herself upon waking. "Olivia..." he began, "You came here by balloon?"

She stared at him blankly for a few seconds, then craned her neck to search the sky. The balloon was still hanging from the tree like a stretched out piece of pink bubblegum. Then, she looked to her left, to where her partner was tied up a few meters away, still unconscious.

"Is that Adam?" she asked, which Richard thought an odd question. The chain of reactions from the rest expressed the same, as if flinches were catching.

"Is that his name? Adam?" asked Kate.

Then, with a groan, Olivia's head rolled backward. She stared up the length of her tree, blinking her eyes aggressively. Then, she convulsed again, only this time it was just her head, which she shook from side to side, as though she was trying to cast something off. Whatever she was doing, it was sudden and jarring, and it sent an icy shot through everyone's veins.

Jack grabbed hold of her by both shoulders, the muscles in his arms visibly tense.

"Something's wrong with my eyes..." she said, her voice clear, but far from calm. "I can't see."

"You can't see what? Anything?"

"Everything's... blurry."

Richard stepped to the side, pushing himself away from the tree he had been using for support. His brows were knitted as he recalled the glasses that had fallen from the balloon, and how he had placed them on the woman's face while she was still unconscious. In a few short steps, he crouched down beside Jack, and motioned for a little room in front of the woman.

He studied her for a moment, noticing the manner in which she strained to see over the edge of the glass, and the way her pupils dilated and constricted without aim. He placed his fingertips on the hinges of the plastic frames and slid the glasses off her nose. At once, the woman sucked in a sharp breath. She winced at the sunlight, then lifted her head. Her eyes locked on his face, the pupils pointed and focused.

Richard chewed on his bottom lip. "I'm sorry," he said. "I thought they were yours."

"They are. They're my glasses." Her body shook as she instinctively tried to touch her face with her hands, only to be refused by the tree that anchored her to the ground. She fell back, every muscle collapsing under her own weight as she struggled to catch her halting breath. Her eyes moved between the faces before her like someone roused from a long coma, surrounded by attendants at her bedside; her lips were parted, forming silent words of disbelief, broken intermittently by a smile of sheer amazement. "I can see... everything."

"You couldn't before?" asked Jack.

Olivia shook her head. "I've worn glasses since I was in sixth grade."

Jack rolled back on his heels. Richard held his breath, pondering the implications of what she was saying. A medical miracle, a healing, occurring minutes after setting foot on the island... well, it wouldn't have been the first time. What it meant, why it happened to only a select few, that was one of the secrets the Island still refused to divulge-or, that Jacob refused to explain. Whether it was the Island or Jacob himself who was the healer, Richard had never been sure. It was possible that Jacob had only channeled the massive pockets of energy beneath their feet, that he had only been a conduit.

It made Richard feel a little better to downgrade him like that.

He looked sideways at the doctor. Richard's hand moved to the cross around his neck. He fingered it tenderly.

Meanwhile, Olivia had found something of her own worth focusing on. "Is Adam... is he okay?"

"He hit his head... Is that your husband?" asked Jack.

"No, he's my brother."

Jack nodded in consideration. "Twins?"

"...Yes."

Now, with this new information, it was as if the floodgate had been lifted, and Richard was struck and somewhat in awe of the two's keen physical similarities. Fraternal twins, obviously, but siblings indeed, with an uncanny correlation to one another; though what caused the man to look soft around the edges-the large eyes, full full lips-had the opposite effect on his sister, adding provocative features to an otherwise plain face. They shared a thin, squared-off nose and angular chin; they both had large masses of matching thick brown hair. Hers was equally disheveled, with what had once been a crafted network of braids loosed and pulled out of all recognition other than a bird's nest.

Most notable, however, was a sudden explosion of familial energy. Olivia's breast heaved with growing agitation. Her gaze could hardly move from her brother's face. "How long has he been... is he going to be okay?"

"We're waiting for him to wake up," said Kate.

"Who are you?" Olivia asked, not to Kate in particular, but the entire group.

"Who are you?" Jack repeated.

She replied with a dark glare. "I just told you... now, it's your turn."

Richard flexed his brows, surprised by her sudden boldness. And impressed.

Jack sighed. "Okay, Olivia... you'll have to forgive us if what we've done seems a little..." he paused, searching for the right word.

"Barbaric?" Richard offered, somewhat flippantly, but also quite seriously.

Jack's jaw tightened, but if he wanted to correct him, he decided against it, though he also seemed at a loss for a better description of what they were doing. He skipped over the word and pressed on: "But you flew here on a hot air balloon." There was a pause, pregnant with incredulousness. "Where from?"

"Christchurch... New Zealand."

"When?"

"Two days ago..."

"Where were you going?"

Resentment turned to irritation like licks of flame in Olivia's eyes. Beads of tears appeared to douse them. "The Chatham Islands. And I assume you're going to ask me why I was going there." Her voice crackled in her throat, which must have been very dry. "To sightsee. We're from Idaho. Coeur d'Alene, Idaho."

Jack held his breath. He let his chin fall to his chest, as his lips parted with an amused chuckle. Richard couldn't tell if Jack was surprised or annoyed, though he was somewhat preoccupied with calculating the probably of a hot air balloon traveling several hundred miles without a pilot.

The pilot!

Richard was back on his feet like a shot, his eyes already pinned on the basket, which the wind rocked from side to side like a clock pendulum.

"Hugo," he called, lightly snapping his finger.

Hurley trotted to his side. Richard didn't have to look to know his gaze was pointed in the same direction.

"Is he... still up there?"

Hurley winced. "Yeah... he's still up there."

"Dead?"

"Yeah... he's dead." There was something almost sing-song about his voice.

Richard ran his hand across his forehead, where a ache was building just above his nose. He pulled in a long breath. "Alright, well, then we have to get him down."

His eyes twitching towards Jack and Olivia, Hurley moved his weight from foot to foot. "Right now?"

"Yes, right now." Richard turned and motioned for more help with a sweep of his arm. "What, are you busy?" With a well-crafted smile, he tried to dispel a little of the tension.

"I just thought that maybe we should wait for Jack to decide what to do with the balloon. You know, wait till he's done talking to them, or whatever."

Richard looked at Hurley with a sideways tilt, his brow forming a level line parallel to his tightly pressed lips. The little levity he had attempted to inject was now entirely gone. He fought his stiffening jaw, determined to remain composed, but the pressure was building. "Just... get it down."

Delegation over, he sharply turned back to Olivia, approaching on the offensive. It had occurred to him that whatever she claimed could be verified through Hurley's peculiar communicative gifts. Perhaps Miles could help, as well. Richard was about to form this plan into some sort of threat when he saw the tracks of tears flowing down her face. He halted-faltered, even.

"We're sorry," she said. "Please, let us go. We'll walk to the nearest city or... anywhere. We're sorry. If this is your private beach-"

At this, without warning, Richard emitted a caustic, high pitched giggle-almost a snort. Jack and Kate's heads turned. Even Olivia seemed taken aback. Richard shook his head and gestured that they ought to ignore him. It was almost an apology. Almost.

But private beach, _indeed_.

Jack returned his attention to Olivia, with Kate following, leaving Richard at a loss for anything worthwhile to say. A quick glance behind showed Hurley and several others taking up stations below the balloon, gesturing and speaking amongst themselves. Miles moved to the dangling rope and gave it a few tugs. They seemed to be discussing who would be the best candidate to climb.

Richard sighed, for the first time feeling the full weight of the morning upon him. In spite of everything, it was the first quiet moment of the day. He hadn't eaten, yet. His shoulders buckled. Sitting down on the sand, he rested his head in his palm and watched Jack comfort Olivia, his hands moving soothingly up and down her arms, and her tears drying at his medicinal touch.

Richard allowed himself to admit that he envied his skill, his gifts. Then, he took it back.

A few seconds later, the man on the opposite tree released a pained moan. Eyes raced to his side, followed by bodies.

And the whole thing started all over again.


	3. The Riddles

**Chapter Three**

_The Riddles_

By noon, Olivia and Adam Riddle had been loosed from the trees, their statuses receiving a substantial upgrade from _prisoners _to _persons of interest._ They had been led down to the beach, the idea being that if they attempted to bolt, it would be easier to catch them on the sand than in the jungle. Perhaps _suspects_ would have been the most accurate description, considered Richard as he kept his distance from the interrogation proceedings. But at least now they were being given water and food, and treated decently, like human beings instead of animals. For now, he had decided not to get involved.

What had possessed Jin to attack the man, Richard could not fathom: it seemed, if not entirely out of character, totally unnecessary. Now, he and Sun were by themselves on the beach, standing close to one another with their backs to everyone, partly out of deserved shame, but mostly for the sake of secrecy--though this also seemed rather pointless, as no one else on the Island spoke Korean.

Despite all the strangeness, Richard found it difficult to find total fault with what Jin had done. Really, hadn't the contingency plan _always _been pandemonium when someone new appeared on the Island? And the idea that they were supposed to believe the duo had just _floated _aimlessly over from New Zealand was really too much. Perhaps Jin sensed something the rest were proving slow to pick up on; though, truthfully, everyone seemed slightly off today, Richard himself included. His head space felt hazy and distant, like he was standing beside himself, his nerves heightened and tender. A sense of foreboding gestated in his gut.

Those who were not on the beach had joined the task force charged with pulling down the balloon, and its final remaining passenger. Since making the initial contact, Hurley claimed not to have seen sight of the pilot or spoken a word to him. Richard believed him, but kept a close watch with a narrow eye. He found it annoying that these ghosts chose to come and go without much care for the needs of the living. What was it about being dead that caused a person to become so often preoccupied, so easily distracted--flaky, even?

Richard supposed he would never find out.

But while everyone on the beach was seeing to the needs of the living, everyone in the jungle was concerned with those of the dead. Richard wasn't clearly a part of either group, standing almost equidistant from both; but there was a marked difference in volume between the two, and the shouting coming from just beyond the trees was distracting in a rather annoying way. Their debate was over whether it was more ethical to yank the balloon from the canopy and let the basket crash on the ground, or to climb up and carry the pilot down by hand.

"I don't think it's even possible to get that thing down without ripping it," said Miles, who was twitchy and eager to get the man down. "So, I say we just go for it."

"If we rip it, then we can't use it," Sawyer objected.

"Use it for what?" This came from Richard, who was finally approaching the group. The only reply he received was an awkward silence. He lifted his arms to his waist and posed the question a second time. "Use it to leave, James?" His voice was soft and controlled, even though he felt the suggestion was almost comically absurd.

Sawyer rolled his eyes. "_They_, I meant that _they_ won't be able to use it."

"We could sew it back up, like, afterward," Hurley offered. "...Somehow."

"The trees are too thin to climb," said Miles, disregarding whoever said whatever and clearly wanting to press onward to the next option.

Richard shifted his weight to his heels, craning his neck and using his hand to shade his face from the overhead sun. Beneath his palm, his eyes were nearly unreadable as they flicked up and down the length of the balloon, which hung limply and almost dumbly from the canopy. A few seconds passed and he shrugged. "Then we'll cut them."

Sawyer scowled. It was almost a grimace. "Cut them?"

Miles's face lit up. "I'll get the axe!" He ran out of the jungle and towards the beach.

Since... _everything_ had happened, with Jacob, with Jack, with the "war", life had reverted to something if not exactly calm, then decidedly quiet. Days of establishing a camp became weeks of the fundamentals of organization: necessary, yes, but ultimately boring. At least Richard thought so. No one else complained, but perhaps that was only because they were only starting over for the second or third time, instead of the fiftieth. Or hundredth. He'd kept track for a while, but given up after reaching double-digits.

Everyone else seemed relieved by the respite: slowly, they were refreshing, recharging, as life reclaimed its natural rhythm. Richard, however, felt decidedly adrift. Questions about his purpose went unanswered: there was nothing he was supposed to do, nowhere he was supposed to be, and Jack seemed uninterested in putting him to any sort of real use. Of course, it was about more than just having a job, but days would pass with little other than an ancient Spanish proverb echoing in his head: _Is is the dog without fleas who goes mad looking for something to scratch._

They did at least have sand fleas. On the beach, everyone was back to living in tents: some of them rather elaborate, the remains of the Island's short-lived military occupation, and some nothing more than tarps stretched over driftwood, with a corresponding range in between. There were tents just for food and tents for crucial supplies, medicine and weapons; there was even a large community tent, like a town hall. As for what was left of Jacob's home, Jack had not taken up residence in _the shadow of the statue_, and Taweret's foot remained empty, a perpetual reminder of what had passed into the annals of history. The sun an bleached it white as bone.

Instead, Jack had opted for the same shelter as everyone else, albeit one of the nicer ones, which was there The Riddles were being questioned, their backs to the balloon as they sat cross-legged on the sand. It was not far from Richard's own tent, which was also of the military sort, but with little room for anything other than sleeping. Miles dashed past the group like a wild bee, and gathering the same sort of undesirable attention. Jack winced as he ran by, waving him off like a bug.

But the woman, Olivia, seemed grateful for the interruption, releasing her tense shoulders and using him as an excuse to ignore Jack and Kate. She had an angular profile, but not unpleasant to look at, Richard thought. It was an untamed look, a little wild around the edges, and ethnically foreign to anything he could put his finger on.

Her glasses were hooked on her shirtfront. They caught the sun and reflected little rectangles of light, easy to see even from a distance. She watched Miles closely for a few seconds, then tilted her head toward the sky. Richard thought of his own glasses, which he only needed for reading and delicate handiwork, and wondered what must be going through her head: to be given the gift of sight and not even have the time to really enjoy it. He... felt sorry for her.

He realized he was staring and looked away.

Miles picked out one of the smaller tents and disappeared inside, reappearing with an axe a minute later. He held it an arm's length away, the blade upside down as he ran back to the balloon. He paused for a moment to catch his breath, then offered it first to Sawyer.

"You don't want to go at it yourself, Bruce Li?" he asked.

Miles shrugged. "I'm not really a grunt work kind of guy."

Richard tilted his head, an amused smile curling the corner of his mouth. Sawyer snatched the axe with a low grunt of his own and positioned himself beneath one of the trees.

"Everybody, outta the way," Hurley said, gesturing with a wide sweep of his arms. There were five of them in all, including Lapidus, who seemed more interested in watching the action than getting too involved. Hands in his pockets, he walked briskly to Richard's side.

"So... do you think they killed him?" he asked, almost muttering.

Richard squinted at the basket, really wondering for a moment. "No... I mean, I don't think so. Hurley would have said something."

"I guess we're about to find out." Lapidus gestured to Sawyer with a nod of his head. Anchoring his feet in the sand, he swung like he was aiming for a baseball. The thud of metal against wood was dull--the blade wasn't very sharp--but pulling out the axe revealed the tree's pale flesh.

He hacked at it again and again until there was a bone chilling snap. The tree began to bow, the trunk lifting off the ground as the balloon sunk more slowly than anticipated. It was caught on another branch. Moving to the second tree, Sawyer put all his weight into felling it before the fabric tore. It gave way with an uneven crack, but finally the balloon stopped floating and started dropping. The basket hit the ground with a gentle plop, and the trees with a less graceful crash.

Everyone started for the basket at once. Inside was, as expected, the pilot, though Richard was mildly surprised to see he truly did exist. Or had, anyway. He was long dead, the skin like blue milk, body folded in the fetal position.

"That him?" Richard asked, raising an eyebrow in Hurley's direction.

He nodded. "Yeah... that's him."

"Well, let's get him out." Miles waved his hands for some help in scooping the man up. Instead, Sawyer grabbed the opposite side of the basket and, with another grunt, started to turn the entire thing onto its side. With a little assistance from Lapidus, the basket released its contents. The pilot flipped over, retaining his shape like a piece of stonework. His hands were positioned like claws upon his chest.

"Woah, he's, like, _super _dead," said Hurley, watching Miles drop to his knees in front of the body.

"Yeah, he must have died right after they lifted off..." Miles mused. He closed his eyes, lifting a hand to hover just above the man's face.

From behind, Richard could hear a flock of feet pounding the sand. He turned to see everyone running to be part of what was happening: Jack, the Riddles, and even the Kwons. Jack met his eye, his expression one of curiosity. He flexed his brows in approval. Richard nodded curtly, then turned his back.

Miles's face began to twitch, his breath coming in little gasps. His fingertips danced just above the man's translucent temple.

"What's he doing?" asked Adam and Olivia, almost simultaneously. Hurley made a meager attempt to hush them, which only prompted the question a second time.

"He's making sure your story checks out," said Richard over his shoulder.

"What?" This came from Olivia alone, who was suddenly right behind him. Richard was too focused on Miles to answer, which moved Olivia to take him by the arm and force him to look at her. Up close, he could see that her color had finally returned, but her face was still very pained and confused. He also noted that her eyes had little flecks of gold in them.

"He can talk to the dead."

"_Listen _to the dead," Hurley corrected, though it was little more than a mutter. "It's a, uh, different specialization."

Olivia's mouth hung open. Richard couldn't tell if she was preparing to speak or beyond words, but either way she was cut off by Miles as he pushed himself to his feet. Brushing the sand from his pants he turned to face the group. "They're telling the truth."

"What did you find out?" asked Jack.

"That they set out from Christchurch two days ago, and he was taking them to the Chatham Islands."

"For?"

"Sightseeing. Only an hour in, he's taken out of the picture with a massive heart attack." He nodded in the direction of the pilot and lowered his voice. "He died terrified... for you guys, er, Olivia and Adam. He thought he was giving you a death sentence. Yeah... he thought you were really, um, nice people."

He paused, giving himself a moment to compose himself and the Riddles a chance to comment. Neither one spoke right away. Finally Adam gave a little shrug. "Thank you?"

Miles continued, but it required some effort. Clearly, he was moved by the story, which was... _unusual_, Richard thought. "So, he kicked out, but he followed you guys here. And... Hurley, you want to take over?"

Caught off guard, Hurley's eyelids fluttered. "Yeah, okay, um... he followed you here and he was the one who told me you didn't know how to land."

"Wait," Adam interrupted, "You, too? You have _two _people here who can talk to the dead?"

"What are the odds, right?" said Sawyer with mock laugh.

"So, what is he saying right now?" Olivia asked.

"Well, he's gone now," said Hurley.

"But this guy--" Adam stepped forward, taking his place beside his sister. He pointed at Miles. "--was just talking to him."

"_Listening_. I listen to the dead."

"What's the difference?"

Miles puckered his lips and expelled a long sigh. "It's just... complicated. I can feel what people were thinking just before they died. Their final thoughts linger. It's like an impression..."

It was an impossible gift to explain. Usually, it required multiple attempts and typically the other party still dismissed it as loony babble. But it did yield results.

"Look, the important thing is that your story checks out, right?" asked Sawyer, stone-faced. "And either you're the luckiest two people in the world, or the unluckiest."

Silence moved through the crowd like a physical entity. Richard met Jack's eyes again; it was too early in the day for him to look so exhausted.

"I guess," Jack said, at length, "The first thing we should do is bury him."

Eager for a concrete task, the others nodded, Adam and Olivia last of all. He motioned for a hand. They picked up the pilot, which was difficult given that rigor mortis had twisted him in a most unfortunate manner. One by one, they joined the makeshift funeral procession, leaving behind a handful who were still interested in what could be done with the balloon. And Olivia. She remained, her arms hanging limply from her shoulders, her face pointed towards the sand. Even Adam had left her behind, to perhaps he didn't realize she wasn't following.

Richard looked at her sideways. Her face had gone back to an ashen color, the features buckling under the full weight of everything that had happened.

"Are you alright?" he asked.

A grim chuckle choked her, but no tears fell. "Not yet."

He felt compelled to lie to her, and say that everything would get better, that they would find a way to get her home. But with the submarine gone, the chances of plotting the correct route with a hot air balloon were barely worth considering. Their story "checked out", yes, but the real truth of the matter was that the Island had brought them here. About that, there could be no doubts, even if no one was ready to talk about it yet.

Instead, Richard decided to change the subject. "What was his name?" She looked at him in a quizzical daze. "Your pilot."

"Mr. Walsh. Peter... I think his first name was Peter."

"Maybe you and your brother could say something about him at the funeral." Richard couldn't deny that he felt out of place talking to her like this. He had never been told he was a comforting presence, which was probably why he was avoiding any words of real solace. And unconsciously, he was creating distance between them, making a wide circle around the basket, pretending to examine it.

Olivia turned to watch the procession. "I guess I should go..." But instead of leaving, she looked back at Richard and waited. It took him a few moments to realize that she was waiting for him to tell her it was okay, or say goodbye, or dismiss her... or something. At this, he was somewhat taken aback, but he managed a nod. Finally, she walked away.

"I feel... really bad for them," Hurley said. It was only he and Richard who remained.

"More than usual?"

Hurley shrugged. "Maybe."

"...Me too."

"Do you think it's possible they just ended up here by mistake?"

Richard shook his head. "No one just ends up here."

"Yeah, but it is possible to find the Island on your own, right? Like, Widmore. He did, remember? With his freighter."

"He already knew where to look."

"True..." Hurley moved to stand beside Richard, studying the basket with something close to scientific interest. "Did you ever see the Wizard of Oz, man?"

"Is that a film?"

Hurley gestured towards the end of the procession with a wink. Richard followed his eyeline to Olivia's back. "She's sort of like a hot Dorothy."

The reference was lost on Richard, but it still sent a chill up his spine. No, not quite a chill. It definitely wasn't cold. It was more like a ripple of energy. "Um... okay?" Something told him that he agreed, but he didn't see any reason admit it.

Hurley cackled, pleased with himself. "Trust me." But it was then that the laughter stopped. There were a few seconds of total silence, even the ocean seemed to hold its breath. "Dude..."

"What?"

"Dude..." His eyes were low. He lifted a finger to the side of the basket. A trembling finger.

"What?" Richard repeated, his voice wavering a little. Before he even saw what Hurley was pointing to, his skin was already clammy.

His eyes focused on a word printed on the basket, a sign sewn into the wicker. His mouth went dry. His hair picked up to violently that it almost felt as if they were being plucked.

It wasn't simply a word. It was a name.

And the name--in bold, blocky felt--was _Isabella_.

* * *

Okay, so no comments last time. If you're reading, just drop a line to let me know.


	4. Richard

Okey, so this is what I would call a make it or break it chapter. I've gotten a little sidetracked in real life, aka I got married. **Throws Confetti** Unfortunately, I've lost a bit of my rhythm. On top of that, LOST ended, which poses a bit of a snag in my plot, seeing as I'm using characters that are clearly already dead and Richard isn't even on the Island anymore. Haha. So, I guess this is officially AU.

My point is, it's super important for me to know people are reading, so please leave comments. I don't want them to show off how popular the story is, I just want them so I know you're there. **Comment comment comment!**

PS - I apologize in advance for my rotten Spanish. At least, I'm assuming it's rotten.

* * *

**Chapter Four**

_Richard_

Had anyone asked, the man on the beach could have barely recited his own name. Staring out across the darkening ocean, his knees pulled close to his chest, Richard wondered just how far gone he really was. His forehead was deeply furrowed (though it failed to bespeak any real sign of aging) and the tingle beneath his skin had spread upward into his scalp, where a shock of white hair deserved to be germinating. On any other man. Not Richard. It never would.

Perhaps he had finally snapped; that was something he had to consider. But what did it mean, exactly, to _snap_? He had always envisioned it as a violent phenomenon, something that involved lashing out at whoever was unlucky enough to close by, most likely with a rifle or a machete. But this madness was more like something he was slipping into slowly, acclimating himself to it like a pool of icy water, and as if he still had the option of climbing out whenever he wanted. The real trouble was that Richard was not entirely sure he wanted to escape. Maybe it was his destiny to go mad. Maybe if he finally _allowed _himself to go crazy, things would start making sense. Insanity, he thought, might be his only chance for the heaven he longed for now more than ever.

A fire had been built on the beach, as it was every night, and a few small animals were being cooked for dinner. The smell of roasting flesh seemed more grotesque than usual. He had no desire to eat. More importantly, he had no desire to be called for dinner.

_Not now_, he thought, _I'm busy losing my mind._

But to notify him, and everyone else, of dinner was exactly what Jack was preparing to do, in a manner of speaking. It was not as if everyone sat down for a communal meal, with grace offered as they held hands 'round the campfire, but once the food was finished cooking and it meant that it was time to eat. At best, meals could be likened to a buffet where everyone got in line and ate at their leisure. And there was no triangle to be rung, but it was Jack's duty, one way or another, to make sure everyone knew dinner was ready.

In his opinion, not entirely divorced from his medical opinion, Richard was behaving _oddly_, both in a general context and just for Richard himself. Removing the spit from the fire, Jack cast a long stare over his shoulder. Sawyer, who was standing on the other side of the pit, took note.

"Methuselah seems a bit off today, don't he, Doc?"

Jack sighed, partially because he was a little lost on the reference, that and they were all feeling "a bit off today." He turned back to his work his a shrug, as if none of it was his business. "He's got something on his mind."

There was only a little light left by which to see Richard, but he had been in the same position for hours, at times becoming totally motionless, with nothing but the wind to billow his shirt or muss his hair to prove he was a living being and not a statue.

"Do you think one of us should check on him?" This question came from Kate, intuiting their concerns as she stepped into the firelight.

"Check on him for what?" Jack retorted, a little too sharply. It was the tone of a man whose concern and ire tread a thin line, and he was annoyed with himself for his own incurable compassion. Richard had disrespected him, deliberately and for all to see. Existentially, Jack still battled with the role he had been chosen to play, but whether Richard liked it or not, he was the leader. "Alpert can do whatever he wants."

His voice trailed off as he walked away. It was time to call everyone to dinner. The arms of the fire waved a crackling goodbye.

"What do you think, James?" asked Kate, once Jack was gone.

"What about? We've got a hell of a list today."

"About Olivia and Adam, to start."

Sawyer kicked up a little sand with the toe of his boot. "Time will tell, won't it?" He moved closer to Kate, so that he could see her without the fire stinging his eyes.

"But the whole thing seems impossible. I mean, a hot air balloon... a dead pilot... "

Sawyer interjected. "A couple of unsuspecting vacationers... Seems more familiar than impossible."

Kate was silent. A sensation like frigid air nipped at the back of her neck.

He stepped in a little more, lowering his voice. "Everyone's too scared to say it out loud, but we're all thinking the same thing."

Her eyelids fluttered.

"The Island ain't done with us, yet."

* * *

Though it was rarely if ever voiced, there remained a thick line of division between Richard and the others. He was the only one among them to have truly worked, not only for, but alongside Jacob, to have had a real relationship with him. It drew a wide range of responses, with vague indifference on one end and frenzied jealously on the other, though this was becoming less and less common, what with Richard's apparent impending insanity and all. Most littered the middle with various levels of existential dissonance and confusion.

Richard was like an unfortunate prince, permitted to remain in the court after his father's deposition. His presence was unsettling, but tolerated, so long as he stayed out of the way.

This opinion was, in part, the man's own fault. He continued to live among them, because there were no other options, but he had become reclusive and divorced emotionally. The morning's squabble with Jack had been the most they had said to one another in days.

And this was the primary reason for his psychological distress. The argument lingered like a scar on Richard's memory. He had never been the sort of man to tempt insubordination; he was not insolent, he was a worker: a farmer first, cultivating the fields, and then he had been taken on by Jacob. Time and again, he had proven himself to be the best man for the job, _any_ job.

But now he was just... unemployed.

"¿Todo bien?" ["Everything okay?"]

It was Hurley. He stood behind Richard and waited patiently for an answer. The sky was entirely dark, now, the sea, the color of ink. The moon cast a glittery runner down from the horizon. He stared for a little while, allowing himself to fall into mesmerization, or at least dip his toe into the deep end of Richard's preoccupation.

When Richard did not reply, as Hurley expected, he moved to his side and sat down. Actually, he nearly lied down, stretching his legs across the cooling sand and leaning back on his elbows.

Richard's eyes were glassy, almost reflective of the moonlight. Hurley waited for a few more seconds, too see if he would blink. He released a little sigh of relief when he finally did. "Eso era... increíblemente extraño. Right?" ["That was... incredibly strange."]

Richard's sudden response was like little an explosion. He sputtered and laughed and choked on his own breath. Hurley was more than startled, jolting in the opposite direction as he considered making a run for it. But as Richard turned to face him, the clarity returned to his eyes. "Yes," he said, taking it as a sign of hope that someone else seemed disturbed by what had happened. "Weird."

Hurley readjusted himself as Richard tugged his thighs closer to his own chest. Leaning forward, he rested his chin on his knees. Then he tilted his head to the side and did the same with his ear. "What do you think it means? Have you...?" His eyes widened as his brow lifted, as if connected by puppet strings.

It took only a second or two for Hurley to understand his meaning. "No, nothing. At all." He shook his head. "I would have told you, man."

"You haven't seen... her... since..." He gestured with his hand to indicate the reversal of time.

"No... I'm sorry."

Richard closed his eyes, settling his jaw into the valley between his knees. Lately, whenever he closed his eyes, he imagined _she_ was there, actively positioned in whatever was taking place, always present... just invisible until his eyelids were drawn like curtains. But if Hurley had not seen her, he knew he was only torturing himself.

"¿Cómo ella apareció? ...Cuando usted la vio." ["What did she look like? ...When you saw her."]

Unconsciously, Hurley abandoned his Spanish, knowing Richard would understand him either way. "Beautiful, man. And she seemed really nice. And she really loved you. I mean, _loves_..."

His eyes opened again, his lips also parting in a sort of wild, toothy smile. Hurley's awkwardness was amusing and it made Richard glad to discover he was still aware enough of the world to detect it.

"You're really lucky..." Hurley continued. "You know? To have someone like that."

Richard cocked an eyebrow.

"You're a lucky dude."

He fought the immediate impulse to reject this statement, and it was quite the scuffle. He, lucky? Richard was not sure if he wanted to laugh or cry or punch Hurley in the mouth. A combination of the three probably would have been the most satisfying. Lucky? He, Richard Alpert, was lucky? His wife had died of consumption, and he had accidentally killed the only man who might have been able to save her, for which he would have hanged if he had not been sold as a slave instead. And then he'd crashed onto this forsaken island...

"I mean, not everyone gets the chance to someone to love like that." There was more than a hint of sadness in Hurley's voice.

Richard struggled to gather enough saliva in his dry mouth to swallow against the lump that had suddenly formed in his throat. Hurley was right, but he stared at him tearlessly. Despite all the things that had gone to hell in his life, he was the only man in the entire universe who had been loved by Isabella.

"Yeah..." he began, his voice croaking. "I guess I am a lucky dude..."

* * *

Directly behind Richard and Hurley, but too far and obscured by the darkness to be seen from the coast, sat Olivia and Adam, slouched and almost relaxed for the first time in days. _Almost _relaxed. The feel of dry land against the soles of your feet, even gritty sand, after being stranded several thousand feet in the air would move anyone into euphoria. And being given some time to themselves seemed the first sure sign that they were passing some sort of test.

"So, explain to me again... you can see now?"

She frowned. "Adam, it's not like I was blind. This isn't something biblical."

Their voices were hushed, not because they had anything to hide, but speaking to one another privately, they discovered, was their only remaining possession. Their bond as siblings, let alone as twins, felt strong as ever. And, truthfully, it was the only thing keeping Olivia from crying outright whenever Adam brought up the subject of her eyes. Again and again, he pleaded for an explanation, unable to make any more sense of it than she; but the same awe that moved him to search, compelled Olivia to suppress. Her miracle, perhaps against all reason, terrified her.

"But all he did was touch you?" he asked, referring to Jack. "And you didn't feel anything go through you? Like power, or energy?"

"No, it was just... no, it was nothing."

"And all of a sudden, you could see?"

"...Yes."

Adam released a pitchy whistle, Idaho farm-boy that he was, and brushed his hair back with his fingers. "This is amazing."

More than anything, Olivia wanted to change the subject. "Where do you think we are?"

"In the Pacific, obviously. We can't be too far away from somewhere big." His answer was a little too undeveloped for Olivia's taste.

"But we didn't see anything for days." She paused for a minute, allowing her brother the time he needed to devote to thinking. Typically, he required more than most, though she never would have said so to his face. "And what are the odds that the wind would carry us to the only land for miles? _Directly_. And directly to the only camp?"

"Hey, we don't know that," he replied quickly, almost interrupting her. "This place his huge. Do you really think these people are the only inhabitants?"

"That's what they say-"

"And you believe them?" To punctuate his point, Adam gestured to the bruise at the edge of his scalp , which was still fresh and swollen.

"...No." But it wasn't entirely the truth. Olivia did not care to admit it, but she knew could be just as naive as her brother. Yet, this germinating trust was based on more than a gut feeling. It was almost as if... as if it had been instilled in her, or injected in some way, like a baby's inoculation. She didn't understand what was going on, and she was frightened beyond all expression, but it was almost as if she had _expected _this to happen.

Olivia sighed. "I don't know. I need to pray about it... or something."

She chuckled and Adam echoed it. "Maybe you were healed by the Holy Spirit." Lifting a hand, he pressed his fingers against her forehead and gave her a shove backwards. "Be healed!"

He was imitating a televangelist their grandmother had frequently watched. Olivia's chuckle became a ringing laugh. "By the power of His Word, I call down the Spirit of Lawd!" The impression was spot on, Southern accent and all, and it sent Adam into a fit of giggles, which he tried to stifle, only to find himself snorting instead.

But as her brother's head rolled back with laughter, Olivia felt the mirth drain from her body like let blood. Her eyes seemed to wander on their own accord, taking in the fire and the people and coast as though she was reading them off a page in a book. Reading was just about the only thing she had ever been able to do without her glasses, now she could see strands of flyaway hair on people several meters away as they glowed in the firelight. It was... disconcerting.

Her eyes halted on two figures by the water, one on the large side, whom she recognized as Hurley, and the other curled into a tight ball, almost a fetal position. Being the farthest thing away that she could possibly see, Olivia focused on them, testing herself to notice the creases of their shirts and the curl of Hurley's hair, all highlighted by the moon.

After a while she was too locked in on them to notice someone approach from the side and invite them to get something to eat. She did, however, recognize the voice as Jack's, at which point she made the decision not to look up at all. A shiver ran up her spine.

Adam pushed himself to his feet and made his way toward the fire, with a brief aside to let her know he would bring something back for her as well. Olivia nodded curtly and continued to stare at the figures by the water, though by now her focus had blurred from forgetting to blink. All of her mental attention was on Jack, who had lingered beside her.

_Oh, please go away_, she thought.

"Everything okay?" he asked.

"Yeah," she replied, subconsciously moving to adopt the same position as the smaller man far in front of her. She hugged her thighs to her chest and rested her chin on her knees.

"Your eyes? They're, um, they're still...?"

"Perfect." She closed them. "Thank you."

"To tell you the truth, I'm not sure what I did.

At this, she scowled, and before she realized it, Olivia had reopened her eyes and turned to face Jack, placing her ear on her knee.

Jack crouched down beside her, intently staring at her face with medical curiosity. "It wasn't me, it was the Island. Apparently."

"What do you mean?"

"Let's just say you're not the first person to be healed here."

"I've... picked up on that at little, yeah. But not everyone gets healed, right? Why?" She wanted answers, of course, but her curiosity was not diminishing the desire to bolt from his presence. Jack's ability to heal, or to channel the Island was... confusing.

"I don't know," he replied. "But, usually, when someone gets this kind of gift, there's a reason for it."

He spoke so matter of factly that it made Olivia's mouth go dry. Immediately, she shivered. The movement propelled her face back to the water's edge, but instead of two figures, now there was only one. Hurley was gone, and making his way to the fire. She stared, silently, slowly realizing their bodies were in the exact same position.

"Don't mind Richard," said Jack, rising to his feet. "He's not usually like this."

_What is he usually like_, she asked in her own mind, as if she was playing the straight man in a staged routine.

Jack replied as though he had heard her. "Usually he's much more..." He struggled to find the right word, failing in the end. "Just... not like this."

"Is he okay?"

Jack hummed a low note. "I hope so."

* * *

The woman had been standing behind him for a full minute before Richard's senses detected anyone. She cleared her throat nervously and he turned around with a start. Twisted, perhaps, was a better word. He looked up at her from an uncomfortable angle, the whites of his eyes slightly exposed. He waited, but she declined to speak first.

"Did you want something?" he asked, worried about what might be wrong. And slightly annoyed by her intrusion.

"His name wasn't Peter," Olivia began, to which Richard lowered his brows in confusion. "It was Paul. The pilot. I told you his name was Peter, but I was wrong."

Richard recalled the conversation, but could not fathom why she had felt it necessary to correct herself. "You... came over here... just to tell me that?"

"Um, no." She bounced a little on her heels before finally moving to a place beside him and taking a seat. She folded her legs _Indian-style_. "I guess I just wanted an excuse to talk to you for a minute."

At any other time, in possession of more of his wits, Richard might have been intrigued. As it was, he was only put off. He could not decide if she was being overly nervous or overly forward.

"Okay..." He slowly rolled the word off his tongue.

She hesitated again, pulling a sharp breath through her nose. "Can you explain to me what's going on here?"

Richard blinked. Very slowly. "What?"

"The whole thing."

Unbending his knees, Richard rested his weight on one hip, propping himself up with the heel of his palm. "You'll have to be more explicit. What... the balloon? How you're being treated? What do you mean?"

"I mean everything. What's going on _here_." Olivia gestured dramatically to the ground beneath her. When she spoke again, her voice was nearly a whisper. "The Island. Why was I..."

When her voice came to a complete halt, Richard bit down on the tip of his own tongue, as if he could prevent her from finishing the sentence with some sort of magical power. She reacted to the jolt that ran through his body with a nervous twitch of her own, her hands tugging on her hair.

"I think I may have been brought here."

The skin on the back of Richard's neck rippled, turning into gooseflesh. "By whom?" he asked, as casually as possible, his tone almost mocking. He couldn't think of anything he wanted more than for her to go away.

"I don't know. I'm... I'm just confused."

"Well, I'm sorry, but I don't think I have any answers for you."

"Maybe not, but I get the impression you're just as confused as I am."

The skin atop his brow line tightened. Seeing this, she pushed onward.

"Can I ask you something?"

Richard pressed his lips firmly together, fighting the desire to say no-though he also began to wonder why he was at all willing to put up with such discomfort. He discovered he was already nodding. "Sure," he squeezed out.

"That cross around your neck, do you wear it because... you're a Christian ...or some other reason?"

His fingers tenderly found the gold cross, his eyes closing momentarily. "I'm Catholic. I mean, I was. I guess I still am."

"How do you explain all of this? I mean, my eyes... Am I just... healed, now?"

Something inside him began to soften, like a knot untangling in the bottom of his stomach. He shook his head, the corners of his mouth tugging at his skin, though it was neither a frown nor a smile that appeared. "Yes, I guess you are."

Olivia did not reply. Her head sunk into her chest. Hugging her knees, she stared out across the black ocean. The moon glittered on the surface in jewel tones.

Richard looked at her, cocking his head to the side, and realized the softening he felt, the fight against sending her away, was pity.

"I'm sorry," he said, and knew he did not have specify why or for what.

She nodded. "Yeah... thanks."

* * *

**Comment!**


	5. Malvado

Just a short one this guys... doesn't mean I don't want to hear from you... !

* * *

**Chapter Five**

_Malvado

* * *

_

_He floats through the air_

_With the greatest of ease_

The jungle canopy gave way to the first light of dawn: gold rays of glory glittering with dust and other dried up particles, as the warmth evaporated droplets of dew collected only minutes earlier. Patches of sun lit up the floor like a stage, setting every color in strong contrast with one another. What was not golden remained cloaked in a dank , murky darkness, where the air itself remained foul and thick, as if the Island itself was rotting.

He was not quite awake and not quite asleep, snaking haphazardly through the jungle with a disinterested eye. Instinct alone guided him, though he stopped to sniff the air every so often, and changed course when he picked up on the right scent.

_This daring young man_

_On the flying trapeze_

The only motion on the beach came from the rush of the water to the shore, and the billows of tents. If anyone was awake, they had not yet risen, but he could only risk a few minutes. Slowly, he inched his way onto the sand, wincing at the dawn. The sun was more aggressive here. He would need to protect himself.

_Once I was happy,_

_But now I'm forlorn,_

_Like an old coat_

_That is tattered and torn_

_Left in this wide world_

_To weep and to mourn_

One bare foot disappeared into the sand, followed by the other. Silently, he walked a wide arc, his gaze fixed on a particular tent, one that was large and bleached by the sun and very old, though not quite so old as its inhabitant. Dipping his hand into the slit that separated the door from the wall, he widened the opening and peered inside. It was exactly as it was always kept, not a thing out of place. The papers on the desk were sorted into perfect piles and held down by rocks. Even the body on the cot seemed meticulously arranged: flat on its back, arms straight alongside the torso, the chest rising at even intervals.

With a sneer, he backed away from the tent. His jaw was tense and his teeth ached from the pressure emotions imposed upon his physical form. A quick glace in either direction did little to loosen his neck, but proved that he remained undetected. It also drew his attention to the true reason of his visitation: a pink and yellow pile of nylon fabric, erratically folded, as if it had been shoved aside in a hurry.

Already the sun was growing stronger. He could hear the remaining seconds tick by, louder and louder, as he approached the hot air balloon. Plucking a knife from his back pocket, he set to his task, quietly... quietly...

But not quietly enough.

Or had he wanted someone to hear all along?

...A rustle from the old tent, a few muffled Spanish swears;

the door is flown open, the knife catches the blinding full sunlight

and the cross around one man's neck seems as if it is glowing...

But the Man in Black is already gone.

* * *

I couldn't get this formatted exactly the way I wanted it... but, hopefully it has something close to the intended effect. :) Review!


	6. The Circle

**I would say, on a scale of 1-through-10, the amount of work I put into this is close to a 17. Please let me know if you enjoyed it.**

* * *

**Chapter Six**

_The Circle_

"I'm sorry, but can you explain this to me one more time..."

Some wavering hesitation. "It's best not to think about it too much."

"Best for who? You? Everyone else?" Adam choked out a sarcastic laugh.

"Best for _you_." Another pause. Agitation seemed to tighten every sinew of Miles's body, particularly the back of his neck. "So your Idaho potato-fed head doesn't explode from thinking too hard," he spat over his shoulder. A twig snapped loudly beneath his feet and a jungle bird shrieked in the distance.

Miles was being unnecessarily difficult, Olivia decided, but it was her brother who was at greater fault. He was being too aggressive, too much on the attack. When he looked over his shoulder to exchange a rolling eye, she only offered an unimpressed shrug and dipped her hand back into her little sack. She scattered a stream of ash on the ground.

_Do like I do_, was her message. She was tired of fighting; at least, she was tired of Adam fighting. Aside from that first day, when the Jin had knocked him out cold, the beach inhabitants' record had been stellar. Almost. The mystery surrounding the violent slashing of their balloon remained unexplained, the blame largely unassigned.

"It was someone else," Richard had said, not defending himself, not defending anybody. It was just someone _else_: another person who lived on the Island; apparently someone nobody wanted to say anything more about.

As for right now, they were marking their perimeter in the jungle. With ash. According to Jack, it was a task they used to perform, or something they had learned to do. The unfortunate end of the balloon had been both a warning and a reminder that they ought to start doing it, or start doing it again, or something. Whatever.

Olivia, of course, had as many questions as her brother, maybe more, they were just of a different sort. They stood on opposite ends of the same spectrum: Adam concerned with their physical fate, and she with...

"Richard, can I talk to you about something?"

He had been behind her the entire time. Nearly the entire group was walking the line, with Jack at the head, navigating around points of interest and necessary, like fresh water and hunting grounds. Their job was to retrace and thicken the line he started. As the last person-the "caboose," as she had heard him mutter-Richard was to make sure no one had trampled the line. He filled in the cracks. His bag, however, seemed as full as when they started.

"Sure," he replied, a smile briefly appearing. "Have you noticed you start every conversation that way?"

"By asking you if I can?"

The smile widened, revealing teeth. His face however, remained pointed at the ground.

"Sorry," she said, though she was less embarrassed with herself than amused. "I just don't want to bother anyone."

He shook his head. "What do you want to talk about?"

Olivia picked up another handful of ash, but instead of trickling it onto the grass, she let it slip through her fingers and fall back into the sack. She wiped her palm on the hem of her khaki shorts, the same ones she had been wearing since the crash. "Is there something special about this?"

"Do you mean, is it holy or something?"

"I guess."

He shrugged. "I have no idea."

"Then is it, like, a symbol or... a warning...?"

Richard paused to examine what first appeared to be a gap, but turned out to be a leaf. They had been at the task for hours and he had every reason to be frustrated. His job was redundant. Even his hair seemed flat and disenchanted.

"It just works," he said.

"And whoever it was that destroyed the balloon, they don't cross it."

His nod ended with eyes raised to meet hers. "Yes."

Olivia's features narrowed with a frown. She released a frustrated and defeated sigh. Not directed at Richard, though, just at the world (or the Island, for what else existed for her now?) in general. But with a few false starts, he continued where he had left off. "There are some religions that believe that special circles have the power to keep out evil."

Her frown morphed into a scowl. "But we're not making a circle, we're making a line."

"But remember that we started at the ocean. We'll end at the ocean, on the other side of the camp."

"The water completes the circle?" It was less of a question and more of relinquished hold upon logic. Olivia looked down at the ash, noting that if the circle was meant for protection, then Richard was standing on the wrong side of it. Her eyes drifted up his body, past his trousers and blue shirt-his constant "uniform" as she had come to call it-to his throat, where his golden cross bounced off the nape of his neck like a trampoline. She also noted that his shirt was unbuttoned just enough to show it off, like a parted curtain.

Richard sighed, passing another leaf attempting to pass itself off as a break in the ash. "Do you remember a few days ago, when you were talking to me about being part Mawri?" (She politely corrected his pronunciation.) "Sorry, _Maori_. And how you see us doing things that pagans did? Well, right now, I look like a hypocrite, don't I?"

He turned his head in such a manner that the cross wiggled in the air for a few seconds, before falling back to his skin. A bit of blood flushed Olivia's cheeks, as she realized he had been aware of her lingering eyes. And the blushed bloomed as she also saw that he was smiling quite openly at her. It was a grin that was at once alarming and disarming. Was it possible he was teasing her? Richard?

"But I'm not. I'm doing what works."

"You're saying that if it works, then there has to be some truth to it."

"Yes."

Shaking the ash from her free hand, Olivia brushed back her hair, feeling that the braid she had fashioned in the morning was becoming loose. Most likely, she thought, from all her scowling and head shaking. "But you don't know what it means or how it works?"

"Not a clue." Again, he tossed his head aside, rather than simply face her. His white teeth shown proudly, surrounded by his deeply tanned skin. He had a good smile, but the sort that rarely dared appear, like an animal fearful of what lay beyond its den. Yet, it was somehow more frequent than his laugh. Right now, he was chuckling.

"It's good to know I'm not the only one who thinks this is at least a little absurd," she said.

"Ah..." He took in a long breath. "Well, your brother seems generally put off."

Looking forward, she could see that Adam had given up on Miles and moved a few places ahead. His legs seemed taught as he marched behind Kate. He was too far away to hear, but Olivia knew she could safely assume he was only repeating himself.

"My brother... is angry."

"He has every right to be."

"Does he?" Her question halted Richard momentarily. "He just survived _two days_ in a hot air balloon with no pilot, and safely landed on the only island around for... miles."

"You have a point."

"We should be dead." She paused for a few seconds, rolling the rest of her thoughts across her tongue. "Maybe it means something that we're not."

Richard did not reply. His face was pointed back to the line of ash.

"I have the weirdest feeling," she continued, speaking more casually than one might expect. The words even sounded odd to her own ears. "That we were brought here for a reason. Sometimes, I think it's just me. That _I'm_ here for something."

He remained silent, turning his eyes to the jungle, away from Olivia. She stared into the back of his head, trying to read it, and it was clear that he was upset.

"It will probably fade," he finally said, his gaze still averted. Almost simultaneously, he stopped entirely. Olivia reacted by halting beside him, her interest now turned to the trees and whatever had caught his attention.

"What?" Almost absentmindedly, she lifted a hand and rested it between his shoulder blades. A second later, she dropped it. "Richard?"

Nothing.

"Richard?"

He quieted her by lifting a finger. "Stay here."

Ultimately, Olivia did not honor the request. There were a few faltering steps across the ash and back again, as she watched him move deeper into the jungle. It was not until he disappeared completely that a horrible chill in the pit of her stomach forced her to follow. She pushed through the brush and the leaves, stepping high over roots, and avoiding lizards, until coming upon him in a small clearing, standing like a pillar of stone with his back to her, until he sensed her presence.

He looked over his shoulder with such a glare that he seemed as if he might hiss. His brows bent inward with an intense frown. Olivia froze in place a half-dozen feet away.

"What's going on...?" she asked, or attempted to do so. With very little warning, her throat was choked by a frigid sensation that rushed across her skin like a rash. More questions struggled to escape her mouth, with few words surviving in the open air. They dropped around her like insects overtaken by pesticide, fluttering in the air and then giving into the pressure of their own weight.

But the cold feeling turned to ice as she realized that the words were not her own, that her lips were tightly shut, that neither of them were speaking. She was hearing the voices of others, and even though they seemed only inches away, and there was not a person to be seen.

Like a gale, the disembodied whispers began to swirl around them, turning their bodies an jaunty angles, like poorly weighted spinning tops. Olivia could not quite make out what they were saying. She was only able to catch a few scattered words.

"...He...idea what's happening...no...figure out...enough..."

Richard's voice burst through veil like an axe. "Olivia, get over here!"

Her legs moved pre-cognitively and it took several seconds for the sensation of the ground beneath her feet to reach her brain. In a panic, Richard rattled off orders that were impossible to discern through sound alone, but his actions were clear.

_Do what I do._

Digging his hand into his sack, he began to throw ash on the ground around them.

_Make the circle... make the circle..._

Olivia found that her hands were trembling too much to control them, so instead she turned the sack upside down and poured it as they turned, back-to-back, moving in sync with one another as if their bodies were connected by a bolt. Suddenly, there was a horrible metallic crash and an industrial howl. Olivia dropped the rest of her ash on the ground, her back stiffening like a doll's. One of Richard's hands found hers and clutched so tightly that her fingertips went instantly numb.

She could _feel _the whispers, now, like a physical presence. They came up to the edge of the circle and stopped, swirling against the invisible barrier they had formed like a glass wall. The voices chattered all at once, with layers upon layers until it reached cacophony: very few seemed to be speaking English, some sounded like a recording played in reverse. Olivia squeezed her eyes shut as the tension mounted to such a height that her ears felt as if they might pop. A few tears bubbled between her eyelids.

"...He wants...destroy...himself..."

"Padre nuestro, que estás en el cielo. Santificado sea tu nombre..."

But this voice belonged to Richard. Olivia realized she could feel the vibrations in his back. He was speaking in Spanish, and even though she could not understand a bit of it, she could tell that he was praying. Squeezing her eyes even tighter, she wanted to join him, but her mind was completely blank. There was no room in it for anything other than terror. All she could do was pray that his prayer would be enough for both of them.

There were a series of explosions in the distance, as if a barrels of dynamite were setting each other on fire in succession, approaching with monstrous swiftness. What followed was an eerie mixture of mismatched sounds. The whispers faded, replaced by a rumbling, purring, cat-like noise, magnified to the point of harmonic distortion. There was a metallic, computational noise, like listening to a ENIAC from the inside. There was static, and something like a snake's rattle. Everything was interspersed with the lightning. She could even see bursts of light through the red skin of her eyelids.

And just when the fever pitch seemed to signal her imminent destruction, everything began to unravel. The noises, all of them, seemed to back away. They ran back into the jungle, instantly replaced by the normal sounds of birds and bugs and croaking things. All of the critters returned in haste, like they were reclaiming the area, like thunder rushing to fill the vacuum after a crack of lightning.

Olivia's eyes opened only a slit, expecting a vision of charred desolation. It had sounded as if the jungle was being ripped open. The picture-perfect image of a rabbit hopping through the clearing was almost as terrifying, so out of place did it seem.

Richard's breath came in heaves, his spine rolling against hers. Their hands, still strangling one another, were cold as ice cubes. He shook hers vigorously to release it. Without a word, she turned inward, burying her face, frozen as a silent sob, into his chest like a child. Her hands found his shoulders, batting them before digging her fingernails into the front of his shirt, which was completely soaked with perspiration. Richard folded his arms around her, his wide eyes scanning the clearing over her head.

"What was that?" she cried, each word worthy of its own emphasis.

Gasping for a full breath, Richard's hands began to wander. He clutched Olivia's shoulder blade and groped at her hair, running his fingers through it, attempting to comfort himself with its smoothness. His knees knocked against hers.

He did not even attempt to answer her: there was hardly a worthy explanation; and it was plain to see that she already understood.

_That_ was what they were trying to keep out.

* * *

When Richard and Olivia reappeared in the camp, enough time had passed for everyone to be awaiting their return with some amount of interest, some fearfully, some casually, with a new less than virtuous theories peppered for good measure. Adam was pacing. The moment his sister stepped out of the trees, he ran to her, prepared to snatch her away. But Richard, who had been gently guiding her through the jungle by the hand, relinquished his hold without so much as a hint of hesitation, as though he was returning her to her proper owner.

For Olivia's part, she was still trembling, her limbs too weak to walk across the sand on her own, let alone defend her freedom to go with whomever she wished. Adam led her away, casting what he thought was a knowing glare toward Richard, but really only succeeded in making him look foolish. Either way, it was mostly ignored. Olivia fought against her buckling legs, but it was not very long before her body gave up and crumpled into a quivering heap. Adam helped her sit down and took a place beside her.

"What the heck happened out there?" he demanded, his motive lying somewhere between brotherly protection and parental control.

Olivia shook her head. "I have _no _idea."

"You have no idea?" he asked with a harsh laugh. "You were gone for half an hour."

Slowly, she raised her eyes, and stared into what struck her as a funhouse mirror image of herself. They were twins, with the same eyes and mouth and, she imagined, currently senseless expression, but what a gulf there truly was at times. More and more frequently, their interpretation of events seemed diametrically opposed to one another. And now, what he appeared to be implying had nothing to do with the sounds in the clearing.

She shook her head. "No... nothing like that."

He raised an eyebrow in disbelief. "Really?"

Olivia tilted her head quizzically. She knew her brother well enough to know that if he had heard those same noises, their conversation would have been racing down a much different route. A glance around the camp, a quick study of everyone going about their regular activities: preparing for dinner, dipping into the water for a swim, chatting and laughing; raised the question that perhaps the phenomenon had existed only within the clearing. Was it possible that she and Richard had been the only ones to witness it?

"What are you implying?" she finally asked, expecting the answer to confirm her doubts.

"I'm getting at you and _Rico Suave_ over there going off for a little _alone _time," his tone was darker, now-biting, even. But no sooner than he spoke, he began to break down, his voice cracking. His put an arm around her shoulders. "Liv, you're shaking like a leaf."

Olivia looked across the beach toward Richard, who had walked over to Jack. What they were discussing was obvious, but she had her doubts over whether Adam was in any state to hear it himself. And maybe it was not her place to spread the news of the sighting around the camp.

As if on cue, Richard and Jack looked in her direction. The trio of eyes met and debated the subject. Somewhere, a woman laughed and splashed in the water.

_No_, she would not say anything.

"Liv, if anything happened, I swear to God, I'll-"

"No, nothing happened."

"Then why do you look like death?"

"We were attacked. By an animal."

"An animal?"

"A boar."

"A boar? I didn't hear anything."

_I know_, she thought to herself.

Now Adam's eyes embarked on a new task, as they examined every inch of her exposed skin for injuries. His hands hovered over her in apprehension, as if the lightest touch might shatter her. Olivia took a firm grip on his wrist, giving it a squeeze to prove her own strength, though it took more out of her than she was willing to admit. Every nerve in her body still felt like it had been lit on fire.

"I'm fine," she said as she guided him to a more comfortable position beside her. With a long sigh, he relinquished everything. Slowly, she lowered her head to his shoulder, and he stared out across the ocean. It was dusk, now, and the light was fading to a purple-ish hue.

"You still spend too much time with him."

Olivia gave this a considerable amount of thought, though it only lasted a few moments. In the end, she decided not to answer.

"He's too old for you. What is he, like, forty?"

"I have no idea."

Adam placed his arm back around her shoulders. He rested his head atop hers, shaking it as he sighed yet again. "Just... be careful, okay?"

"What do you mean? He just saved my life, you know." But she was tired, and even more tired of fighting. Her voice sounded anemic and defeated.

"The just keep being careful, that's all." He cast a sideways glance in Richard's direction. "The guy's a bit of a weirdo."

* * *

**All I can say is, please comment if you enjoyed this. It'd be nice to see some of the fifty-odd visits I get per posting let me know they're along for the ride. *Puppy Eyes***


	7. The Partition

Reposting this, due to an error.

**

* * *

**

**Chapter Seven**

_The Partition_

Richard was ashamed of himself.

His tent was illuminated by the glow of a single oil lamp, kept dim so as not to reveal his shadow on the outside. It was only enough light to keep from suffocating in the darkness, and even then just barely. The lamp stood in the center of a metal table beside the bed, where Richard lay, stretched out upon his back, his hands resting loosely on his abdomen, rising and falling almost undetectably with each shallow breath.

Aside from his face, and the canvas just beside his head, the lantern set a golden light across the cover of a book: _Everything that Rises Must Converge_, by Flannery O'Connor. At the edge of Richard's peripheral vision, it appeared as if the book was glowing from within. The cover was torn at the corner, revealing the name of a previous owner, which Richard had scribbled over only moments before. In the humidity, the ink was still slightly wet, betrayed by a thumbprint below the name and a black streak at the tip of Richard's thumb.

There were several clocks and watches in the tent, a good number very old and no longer functional, but he had no need to look at any of them. He knew it was almost 2 AM, he could feel it. A common misconception about immortality was that time was transformed into an illusion-but to Richard, each second seemed slightly longer than the last, and nighttime doubly so.

The reasons behind Richard's sleeplessness were many. They clogged his brain like a washtub, trapping a swirling mess of his wildest thoughts. And the plug, whatever the key to the rest he so desperately needed might be, seemed just below his reach.

He was ashamed for putting Olivia in such danger. He knew he never should have stepped beyond the boundary of the ash. If _He_ was willing to respect it, then he ought to as well, it was just common sense. But Richard had never been especially good at common sense. The years had done little to smooth out those rough edges, although he was getting better at hiding them. And avoiding people. That could not be underestimated. If anything, recent decades had taught him that it was best to keep one's distance, especially if one was so easily dismantled by one's emotions and whims of fancy.

He was not even entirely sure what had been so alluring. What had he thought was beckoning him? A shock of something white... was it fabric, perhaps, or some strange animal?

Richard did not, however, blame Olivia in the slightest for following him. Even at the time, he had expected her to do so. Even if she did not demand explanations, unlike her brother, it was her nature to be curious: always full of questions, searching for meaning in the midst of chaos. And for some reason-for the life of him, he could not understand why-she seemed to believe he was full of answers.

What was more unsetting than anything else, was that Richard had actually _hoped_ she would follow.

He was a man who had looked into every face in Man in Black's arsenal, from the most beguiling to the most terrifying. He had witnessed death and destruction few dared imagine. In the clearing, Richard had been frightened, yes, but not at all for himself. Time and again, the Man in Black had proven his disinterest in killing him. Olivia's safety had been his only concern, but that was to be expected. She had required his protection, and he had given it lavishly, and for this, he was rather proud of himself. Immortality or none, life had given him very few chances to be a hero.

Even the fact that he generally enjoyed her company seemed of little interest. He had forged friendships with women before. He liked whomever he liked, man or woman. Fortunately, he liked very few, and trusted even less.

But he had actually _wanted_ Olivia to explore the clearing with him. It had not only crossed his mind, but ran from ear-to-ear with a battering ram. It was for that very reason that he had held up a finger to halt her, and furiously glowered from over his shoulder when she did not listen.

Richard rolled over in bed, giving the yellowed pages of the book beside him a long stare. It was not a very old edition, barely ten years, but the moist heat had turn its once blue cover to a mucky brown. It looked dirty and fowl and possibly bacteria-ridden, not that it mattered to a man who could not catch a cold. Still, he detested the sight of it for what it symbolized.

_Everything that rises must converge..._ like hot air. Like a balloon. Like a balloon that bursts when it rises too close to the sun, releasing everything contained inside. And then lost.

Sometimes, he was even angry with Olivia for landing so safely. And, by sometimes, he really could not look further back than the last several hours. Still, it was enough.

It was a big tent. The sort a military general might use when traveling through the desert, all white and spacious. There was even a canvass partition separating the bedroom from another room, where Richard kept various supplies and books and things. In that room was also a desk, covered with handwritten papers and decorated by a single Ship-in-a-Bottle.

Finally, Richard sat up, dropping his feet to the floor. He rubbed his eyes for a moment, hoping it might trick his brain into thinking he was actually tired; he pulled off his socks; finally, he picked up the book, turning up the lantern so that he could walk to the other room without tripping. With one long, final look at the cover, he slipped the book back into its usual place, only spine first, so it was the pages faced him. At least he would not have to look the title for a while, however long a while meant.

Returning to the bedroom, he began to unbutton his shirt, preparing himself for one final attempt at sleep. He kept all of his clothes in a steamer trunk, folded neatly, with shirts on one side, trousers on the other, and socks and belts in between. Contrary to common belief, he did _not _wear the same thing every day. In fact, he probably had the largest selection of outfits on the island. They just all looked the same.

Dirty clothing went into a compartment that hung from the top of the steamer. As Richard removed his shirt, he lifted the lid with his foot, and, rolling the clothing into a tight ball, he slipped it into the pouch, noting how full it was. Tomorrow would have to be laundry day.

A little smile escaped his lips. Sometimes it seemed like those everyday normal-people thoughts were the only thing that sustained him.

But what happened next, felt like a bat taken to an oriental vase.

Though all that began it was a clearing of someone's throat.

"Hey... Richard?"

He spun around, his skin giving every indication that it was fully prepared to abandon his body at an instant's notice. His _bare_ skin, he realized, looking down at his chest and reaching for his bed sheet with one motion. He pulled the sheet up to his neck, draping himself like an undressed window.

"What-Wh-" He struggled to steady his pulse, so badly had she startled him. "Olivia, what are you-"

Even in the weak light, he could see her face flush. "I'm sorry. I saw that you were still up."

"Well, I was about to go to sleep," he said, a little too defensively. (As if he still had a right to an excuse at 2 AM.) "Is everything okay?" Richard walked back to the lantern and turned to knob, to darken the room and conceal their shadows. Along the way, he used his other hand and the sheet to cover his exposed back. Both hands trembled slightly.

"You don't have to... um," she hesitated thoughtfully. "I'm not, hm, offended or anything. People swim in less around here. Sawyer, for one..."

Richard sat down on the bed, realizing how ridiculous he looked in a makeshift toga. He let it crumple into a pile in his lap and inhaled a long breath that finally seemed to take. "I'm... an old fashioned guy."

Spotting the open steamer trunk, Olivia picked up the top shirt-which was blue, just like the one he had discarded minutes ago-and tossed it gallantly into his receiving hand. Richard put it on and began to button up, while she waited, patiently.

"Sorry about that."

"About what?"

"Scaring you."

"No, it's-it's okay," he ran his open palm down the length of his face, and scratched the stubble on his jaw. "Is everything alright?"

"Well, I can't sleep either."

Richard hummed a low note, wondering if she believed he had some sort of answer for that as well, or a magical power.

"I think it's because I never thanked you for saving my life."

Richard dared to finally look at her. She was dressed the same as always: the same khaki shorts and pink button-down shirt, though she was beginning to look as sweat-stained as the rest of them. Her feet were bare, as they frequently were on the beach. The only real difference from her daytime appearance was that her hair was down. Richard realized he had never seen it just _hang _before; it was always tied up in braids and tails, but now he could see that she had a _lot _of hair. It was curly, like Kate's, but more susceptible to the humidity, making it wider. It was just beautiful, and Olivia was a wild, untamed beauty.

No, she was not especially beautiful. On paper, she was just the vaguely ethnic girl next door: pretty, but little more. Her eyes and mouth were large, with soft edges, almost without edges entirely. He could only assume it was all the result of those few drops of Polynesian blood that flowed in her veins. Hot blood, he imagined. Hot enough to inflate her hair to such dramatic volume. He was sure that if he attempted to run his fingers through that hair, it would get tangled and trapped there forever.

Richard wanted to slap himself in the face. If it failed to wake him from this dream (or nightmare), then at least it would suffice as a minor penance for his sinful thoughts. Though, truth be told, there was nothing especially filthy about them. But they did not belong.

And so he just stared at her, lips parted and dumb, his eyes blank: stoic as ever.

"Thank you," she repeated, prompting him slightly.

"You're welcome. You shouldn't have followed me, though."

"I'm pretty sure you shouldn't have run off like that."

_Touché_, he thought, lifting an eyebrow. "Then I guess I owe you an apology, too."

He thought this might, at the very least, earn a laugh from her, and again he scolded himself for desiring it. But she instead began to approach him, every feature and every detectable movement one of determined intent. She pulled out the chair in the other room and carried it over to the bed, sat, and faced him directly, folding her arms and leaning inward.

"I think what you owe me is an explanation."

"What do you-"

"What the hell was that thing, Richard?" And finally, he could see that she was angry, _very _angry. She had every reason to be.

So he decided to answer her question. "That was... the monster."

But not entirely.

"We don't know what it is, or where it came from," he continued. "But it lives on the Island and it doesn't like us very much."

"It sounded mechanical."

"It makes a lot of sounds."

Olivia leaned back in her chair, dropping her arms. "Fine, but there's no such thing as monsters."

An ill laugh trickled between Richard's teeth, his head wobbling very slightly upon his neck. "I assure you, there is."

Her hands moved to her chest and back to her lap, aimlessly and almost of their own accord. "So... what, it just-there isn't anything we can do about it? It's just _here_?" The volume of her voice began to rise. Richard motioned to quiet her, but she waved him off, even going so far as to lightly slap his hand away. She did, however, return to a whisper. "No, if it's so dangerous, why aren't you and Jack telling anyone what happened."

He paused, confused. "I didn't tell Jack."

Now she paused. "Then what did you tell him?"

"I said we were chased by a bear."

"I told Adam it was a boar."

He clenched his teeth. They had been stupid not to make up an excuse before returning to the camp. He stood and paced aimlessly.

Olivia shook her head, the rest of her body moving in a _Right, Whatever_ sort of motion. "I don't think anyone believes us anyway."

Richard stopped and looked down at her across his right shoulder. As she slowly lifted her gaze, her arms moved back into a tight fold. He did not have to ask what she meant and she did not have to explain herself.

Richard dug his bare toes into the sand. His hand lightly clawed at the stubble on his jawline. "Well... better that than this," he said, finally disappearing behind the partition, just so he wouldn't have to look at her. Of course, he expected her to follow, hoped it the slighest bit, but she remained in the chair. A few moments passed so quietly that he could hear the crash of the waves like they were right against his wall.

"But why are we lying?" she finally asked.

"Because they all know it's out there and it would be better not to alarm them with every little sighting."

"Little?"

"Believe me, that was a little sighting."

The lantern pushed her shadow through the fabric of the partition. Richard watched as she finally stood and circled the chair, arms still folded. She did not lift her head to speak. Her trust felt like it was slipping through his fingers like something wild on the end of a rope. "Fine. Then I won't tell anyone."

With a sigh, he stepped to the side, back into her field of vision. "He especially doesn't like me."

"He?"

"The monster. I think he was curious about you, because you spend so much time with me." His heart began to pound as he spoke. His stomach turned. "He studies people. He spends a lot of time getting to know you."

"Why?"

"To find weaknesses."

"Why doesn't he like you?"

"Because I refused to follow him."

She tilted her head. "When?"

"A... long time ago."

Richard braced himself, preparing for the next question. He wondered if he would be able to admit things he had never willingly allowed another person to know. He wondered what the words would sound like coming from his own mouth. But Olivia's interest shifted; she changed the subject. A metaphorical bullet whizzed past his head.

"You're talking about this monster like it's a person."

Richard took a step forward. "It's not, though... it's just a monster."

"Then how can we possibly be safe here?"

The motion that Richard made with his head was neither a nod nor a shake; it was closest to a shrug, and he felt very near to laughing. _I don't have any idea_. He turned and walked back to the bed, sitting upon the edge, letting his folded hands drop between his knees. He stared out of the corner of his eye until his vision blurred. Blinking, he straightened his back, and pulled a stiff breath through his nose.

Olivia came over and sat beside him, falling into the same position, with the same glassy stare.

"So, maybe..." she began at length. "We shouldn't spend so much time together anymore..."

Was this a question, Richard wondered. He turned to look at her sideways, but could barely see more than the tip of her nose behind her hair. With a hand that was not thinking too clearly, he pushed a curtain of curls behind her ear.

"If you don't think it's safe," she finished, tilting her head toward him.

She was close enough to kiss, and Richard shivered inside for wanting it even a little bit. His heart was not one meant to fly so free. As far as he was concerned, he was still a married man.

"It probably isn't," he replied. His mouth was dry.

No, she was beautiful, very beautiful. He just liked to look at her.

But more than that, he liked that so many things could go between them unsaid. Sometimes even a glance seemed like overstatement.

She patted her palm against his knee. The fabric of his trousers dampened the sound, so that it was nearly gone altogether. "All right, then," she said, tightening her grip on his leg for a second and she pushed herself upward.

Richard nodded absentmindedly.

She was already gone before he realized he had lost the chance to say "Good night."


	8. D'Accord

**This one is on the short side, I know. I considered combining this with the chapter to follow, but I felt that this stood better on its own. Also, I really wanted to get something up. I was busy directing a play for the last few weeks, but that's over with. Enjoy! Please review. I love hearing from everyone!**

**

* * *

Chapter Eight**

_D'Accord_

John Locke detested the feeling of the ground beneath his feet. Each little pebble and knot was like a knife through his sole. He might have made the journey easier on himself by assuming a less that corporal form, but soon a conversation would take place, and it was best to reacquaint himself with the way it felt to speak and move and all that sort of thing. He might lose some authority if his tongue suddenly went floppy or his hands went limp.

It was just after noon and already the heat was sweltering. He stumbled around like a fat boar, sweat pouring from the crown of his head, and down the back of his legs. Even his socks were wet. He couldn't remember a day when he felt more disgusting to be human.

He came upon a small figure in a clearing, hunched over a little fire, roasting a his lunch. The bird on the spit was plucked and tied perfectly, like something you might by at the market: it was almost elegant. The figure himself was egg-shaped, with narrow shoulders and a filthy shirt. Still, he looked better than Locke felt.

"Hello," the figure greeted him, not bothering to turn around. At some point, he had also dropped addressing him by name. Any name.

"Hello, Ben."

Locke dropped his backpack on the ground and rolled his shoulders. He collected himself. Now the drama would unfold.

"I can't imagine why you're here." But Ben was being sarcastic and he let Locke know it, finally glancing over his shoulder with a raised eyebrow. His lips were tight, drawing an even smaller line than usual.

"I assume you know about the balloon," said Lock.

"_Everyone_ knows about the balloon," Ben replied. "Has Henry Gale's wife finally come to search for him? Or is it just Dorothy and the Scarecrow?"

Locke walked a circle to the opposite side of the fire, though he remained standing and forced Ben to lift his head. "Have you met them?" he asked.

"I haven't been formally introduced, no. In case you haven't noticed, I'm not a welcome guest at Club Med."

"Then allow me to share some of the details... a balloon named Isabella set out from Christchurch, New Zealand, on February 24, and crashed on this Island, two days later."

"They made good time," Ben interrupted, but Locke ignored him, pressing on with urgency. His teeth were flashing in that almost debonair way he tended to adopt when he was viciously serious.

"Dorothy is the Olivia Riddle and the Scarecrow is Adam, her brother. They're from Idaho."

"Not Kansas?" Ben stood and tended to his meal, spinning it half-way and pressing the flesh with his index finger. "Let's cut to the chase... what are you hoping I'll do for you? And you better ask nicely this time."

Locke clenched his teeth. He hated needing Ben, almost as much as he hated the Island. _I'm never going to kill you, but I'm going to enjoy it when you die._

"I don't _need_ anything, Ben," he began. "But I think you might have a personal interest in these goings on yourself."

This peeked Ben's interest, a sensation he was beginning to hate himself. Would he never get a moment's peace? His gut tightened. His face, as always, remained blank. "Do I?" He hummed a thoughtful note, mockingly of course, and pulled his lunch from the spit. Carrying it a few feet away, he sat back down and began to pick at it while everything cooled. "Mind if I eat while you talk?"

Once again, Locke ignored him, or at least appeared to do so. The skin under his collar steamed. He could hardly imagine a more irritating creature.

Almost.

Ben went on without waiting for an answer, not that he had expected one. "So what are we doing to Jack this time? Planning to dust off his father? Bring him out of the closet? Oh, is Claire around? Haven't seen her for a while."

Locke sighed. "No, Ben, this doesn't have anything to do with Jack."

This time, the interest registered on Ben's face.

Locke smiled.

Ben lowered his brows. "Then who?"

Locke stepped closer and sat down beside him. With a keen eye, he stretched out his hand and plucked a piece of meat from Ben's lunch. He popped it into his mouth as the grin deepened on his face.

"Who, John?"

Locke shook his head. The boy was so impatient these days. He stared into the fading fire, watching the ripples of heat in the air, and the puffs of sooty black smoke that tried to escape the pit. "Richard Alpert," he finally answered, cocking an eyebrow that could only be described as fox-like.

Ben blinked. And then he blinked again. It was like a ripple on a sheet of filmy swamp water; otherwise, his face was an emotionless void. He turned away from Locke, or the Man in Black, or whatever he was, scarcely needing to reminded himself that he had no reason to trust either one of them. "You know, the man saved my life once."

"I know," Locke replied.

With a nod, Ben tore off a strip of flesh from the roasted bird. "Okay. I'm in."


	9. Tug

**Chapter Nine**

_Tug_

_

* * *

_

"This is beginning to smell worse than anything I've ever smelled before."

"We're too low on the totem pole to request a less smelly job."

Adam and Olivia were covered in so many fish scales that they could have passed for sea monsters. And, truthfully, they were sweating so badly that it was difficult to distinguish their own smell from the dinner preparations. Even in the shade, the sun was hot. It was three in the afternoon and it had already rained for the day: there was no break in the weather to anticipate until sunset.

"Maybe if I'm really bad at this, they won't ask me to do it again," said Adam. His hair was wet and flat against his scalp. He brushed a few droplets of sweat from his forehead with the back of his arm, only to have them immediately reappear. He had been repeating the motion all afternoon. It was a futile exercise he had yet to realize would get him nowhere.

Olivia never even attempted to fight the heat. Instead, she kept her head tilted forward so the sweat fell on the sand. It also helped her to remain focused on the task at hand. Lifting her eyes brought too many distractions into view. Richard's tent, for one.

"That wouldn't be very fair to the people who are expecting to eat dinner tonight," she said humorlessly. She was tired of her brother's complaining, but he did not take hints very well.

"This is just disgusting," he muttered.

"Just... shut up..." she murmured in reply.

He sputtered. "You shut up. I'll shut up when I feel like it."

Olivia bit her tongue. Never before had she wanted so badly to slap someone across the face with a raw fish. She expected him to continue ranting; instead he was silent. For almost a minute, there was nothing more than the _scrape scrape scrape_ of their knives against the fish scales.

"Sorry."

She smiled, but not fully. She was tired. "I was worried I was going to have to put you in a time out."

"Pft, thanks, _Mom_..." But he was lightening up.

"When you stop acting like a baby..."

"Hey, I'm aware that we need to do this in order to survive. I'm not... an idiot or something, you know."

"Did I call you an idiot?"

"Everyone around here treats me like one."

Now Olivia frowned. This was something she could not refute. Everyone treated him like an idiot, but that's what he was. She would never say so out loud, but it was true. Under the duress of Island life, his immature and foolish tendencies had gotten the better of him. And it did not help that he kept on reinforcing everyone's opinions with random outbursts of frustration and anger. Those that did not insult him tended to avoid him. He had all the benchmarks of a liability.

"Well, I never will," she said, raising her gaze a smidge to meet his eyes. Her returned a sulking shrug. "And I'm sure if you try a little harder to be nice, you'll make friends with someone."

"Pft," he hiss again. "Who?" Lifting his knife, he began to count off the scattered beach dwellers. Olivia followed the point of the blade. He pointed first to Hurley. "That guy only wants to talk about Star Wars-"

To Jack. "-That guy thinks I'm going to break everything I touch."

To Saywer. "-That guy calls me Larry Bird and Miracle-Gro." (Olivia stifled a snicker. "Well you're tall," she interjected.)

To Miles. "-That guy's just outright rude to everyone."

To Richard. "-And your friend over there's from another solar system."

She squirmed and lowered her eyes. "I'd hardly call him my friend anymore."

"You have a lovers' quarrel?" he asked.

"That's not funny, Adam."

He lowered his voice back to a mutter. "Whatever..." then he raised it again, "But you see what I mean."

"They're decent people once you get to know them."

"They're... weirdos."

Her face started to burn-not from the sun. "They're people who got stranded here, same as us."

"Right, and now they worship the Foot God-" Adam gestured to what was left of the statue in the distance. "And tremble before the unholy jungle monster."

Again, Olivia forced her teeth down on her tongue. She still had not mentioned a word of her encounter with the creature in the jungle. Neither had Richard. No one knew, not even Jack.

With a grunt, Adam tossed his knife on the ground and dropped a fish into the bucket. With another grunt, he pushed himself onto his feet and stood, facing the jungle. He took at step forward.

"Are you really not going to finish this?" she asked, shouting after him. She felt like she was slipping down her last nerve like a rope in gym class.

Adam did not turn around. "Relax. I'm just going to water the flowers for a minute..."

Her nose wrinkled in disgust as she watched him disappear into the trees. She wondered if she was supposed to be worried about him going off alone, but using the jungle as a restroom had become a daily task. The concern faded in a second, maybe less. With a sigh, she turned her back on him and decided this was as good a time as any for a break. There were eleven cleaned fish in the bucket. It was time to deliver them to Kate, whose job it was to oversee the next step of actually cooking the fish. A fire was being built up on the beach.

Olivia carried the bucket across the sand, passing the usual sights along the way. Hurley was scribbling in a notebook, Sawyer was reading a magazine without a cover, Jack was discussing something with a small group. She paused briefly to note Richard standing at the water's edge, shoes cast aside and his pant legs rolled. The waves washed over his feet up to the ankles, his shirt billowed in the light breeze... it was like a staged photo-op. All he needed to do was turn his head toward her, acknowledge his awareness of her with his otherworldly eyes.

She waited. But he didn't turn. His gazed was fixed on the horizon.

Olivia continued on her way, lest she give anyone more to talk about. She knew the things they insinuated about their relationship, and her late-night visit to his tent had somehow gotten around. But they had barely spoken since then and the gossip seemed to be dying off, for the most part. Adam still liked to rib her about it, and she tolerated that because he was her brother. Giving up Richard as a friend hadn't left a gaping hole. She got along well with most of the beach dwellers.

"How's it coming along?" Kate, for one.

Olivia dropped the bucket at her feet. "Eleven," she announced with pride. In the distance, she could see Sun and Jin busy at the same task. "How many have they got done?"

Kate stifled a grin as she looked over her shoulder. "Thirty... I think."

"Oh... well, now I'm embarrassed."

"Yeah, hard to compete with a fisherman..." Her smile faded a little. "Where's Adam? Everything okay?"

"He's just..." Olivia sighed. "The usual. Why, could you hear us?"

"He looked upset." Kate threw another bushel of leaves onto the embers and asked again, a little less casually, "Where did he go?"

Olivia's brow tugged at her forehead. "To the... bathroom." The heat from the embers curled around her feet like a warm wave. Instinctually, she dug her toes into the cool sand. Kate shifted her weight awkwardly from side to side. She didn't seem herself. Her expression was conflicted.

"Listen, Jack and I were talking... he's probably going to bring this up tonight. He doesn't want anyone to go into the jungle on their own anymore."

Now, she outright scowled, though not out of confusion, but understanding. "Would I be right in assuming he wants to keep a closer eye on Adam?"

"People forget about the danger too quickly. Nothing bad happens for a few weeks and then... I think Jack thinks Adam's more vulnerable than most of us." She paused to take Olivia's emotional temperature. "I'm not telling you this to upset you."

"I know." There was nothing to argue about. It was all true. And she had witnessed what could happen beyond the circle. "And I know about the Monster."

"It's not just his safety. Right now, we're unified, but it's not always like this."

Olivia's face turned into a question mark.

"Things happen, people take sides... it would be very dangerous right now if Adam defected."

"Defected to what?"

As if on cue, Jack appeared on the other side of the fire, his eyes dark as coals. Kate's face paled as she refocused on her task. Olivia's gaze moved between them: she wondered just how much Kate had overstepped her bounds. The tension between them was thick and sticky, like dough; with the heat from the fire, it felt like they were all trapped in an oven together.

"Sorry, Jack," Kate muttered, sending a billow of sparks into the air with a bundle of wood.

With a sigh, Jack gestured away from the fire with a nod of his head. Olivia accepted the offer and followed him to the shore. The sound of the waves swelled and washed away all other noises from the beach, while sense of foreboding gestated within, twisting and kicking to life. He stopped just where the sand was barely wet. She combed an errant strand of hair behind her ear. In the distance, over Jack's shoulder, she had a perfect view of Richard, totally unaware of the world around him. His eyes, trancelike, were locked on the horizon; his lips moved slightly, uttering words she knew she couldn't have heard without her hear grazing the skin of his mouth. Was he praying? One hand was thrust deep into his pocket, fidgeting with something, counting something.

Jack cleared his throat. "There are some things we haven't told you about the island," he began, surveying the horizon himself. Was he avoiding her eyes, Olivia couldn't tell. She was finding it difficult to look directly at him, too. "But... I get the feeling that you already know about them."

"The Monster?"

"Have you seen the Monster, Olivia?"

"No, but I've heard it." Her eyes had been tightly shut, even when the creature was all but breathing in her face.

Jack nodded, grinding his teeth a little.

"That time that Richard and I, you know, disappeared for a little while."

"And you didn't say anything, because...?" It was a question full of other questions. Not even smaller questions. Ones that were just as big, maybe larger.

"I got the impression that it was the sort of thing I was supposed to keep to myself..."

"Is that what Richard told you?"

"He didn't have to."

"Did you say anything to Adam?"

Olivia gulped. "...That's what this is really about isn't it."

* * *

The trouble with using the jungle for a bathroom was that it was hard to keep track of the spot you had used the day before. Is that mine? Is that one mine? Getting close enough to really check was nauseating, especially since their diet consisted mostly of fruit. Each day, Adam found himself going a little further than before, just to bypass the more disgusting toilets.

Stumbling upon the line of ash was like hitting a wall, or as he frequently called it, their pen: they were all cattle and this was their electric fence. Growing up on a farm, there had always been a warm place in his heart for the biggest and stupidest of the animals. The Cow Whisperer, they called him. At least there had always been something dumber than him. _The Cow Whisperer_. Now Adam wondered if it had always been meant as an insult.

Stomping over to a tree, he unzipped his pants. Soon there were the usual sounds and sensations, punctuated by a final sigh of relief.

"Hey!"

But hearing another voice was _not _the sort of thing he had grown accustomed to.

Zipping himself back up must have looked like self-inflicted violence from any angle. Adam spun around, wiping a dot of blood from his hands onto the side of his jeans. Swearing loudly, his eyes scoured the trees for whoever had followed him.

But the voice had not come from the direction of the beach.

Through the trees, from the other side of the ash came a stubby little gremlin of a man, carrying what appeared to be all his worldly possessions strapped to his back. On any street in America, Adam would have guessed the guy was a hobo, or maybe some kind of religious hermit, even if he wasn't especially dirty. It wasn't uncommon to find all sorts of reclusive types in the mountains.

"W-Who the hell are you?" Adam stammered.

"Who are _you_?" the man shot back, as if it had been ridiculous for Adam to ask first.

"I, uh, I came from the beach."

"The beach?" he repeated, just as indignant as before. He had large round eyes, like some kind of nocturnal animal, and they bulged when he spoke. "You _live _out there?"

Adam nodded, carefully. His head was throbbing in time with his heart. "You live... in there? On the other side?"

The little guy scowled. "The other side of _what?_"

He pointed to the thick ash that still separated them on the jungle floor.

"What? Did you put that there?"

"We, uh, we all did."

"Who's _we_?"

"The other people who live on the beach... uh, Jack... uh, Richard... and, uh, Jack." He dropped a few names to see if it might ring a bell, but his brain was like a frozen block of ice. He couldn't come up with anything more, and the other man's face remained blank anyway.

"Am I supposed to know those people?"

"Well, Jack... sort of owns the Island."

"Jack does _what _now?"

Adam's heart felt like it was beginning to skip beats. Was this the sort of person the line of ash was supposed to keep out: this bug-eyed, wimpy looking guy? He seemed to be around forty, maybe fifty, with a paunchy belly and tiny hands. There was no doubt in Adam's mind that he could beat the snot out of him if he tried anything, but that did little to comfort him. Damn Jack and his brainwashing! He was actually afraid of this imp.

"What's the matter with you?" The man paused and looked Adam over, his quizzical eyes becoming thoughtful. "What did this _Jack _tell you about this Island? What's this... perimeter for?"

The man gave the ash a little kick with his foot. Adam's heart climbed into his throat, as if it was attempting to escape the awful fate it would incur if the line was broken.

"Jack told us it was supposed to keep out some kind of monster."

The man squinted incredulously. "Really?"

"Yes..." Adam's heart began to sink back to it's proper place, eagerly awaiting the first words of someone who would affirm his weeks of anger.

"I've live on this island my entire life... and I've never seen any monster."

"You live on the other side of the ash?"

"Miles from here. I was just walking to set up camp near my hunting grounds for a few days." He gestured off to the right, in the same direction that everyone on the beach knew was a full of boar.

"You were born here?"

"Yes... my parents were part of a team of scientists who were here to study the island. I'm... all that's left, now. Life on an island isn't easy. Some leave, some die... some choose to stay and survive."

Adam noticed that he had a syrupy way of talking. The words rolled off his tongue with ease he couldn't mistake for anything other than honesty.

The man smiled. "Not everyone's cut out for it."

"My sister and I were in a hot air balloon..." Adam offered freely. "And we went off course, and crashed here. That was almost two months ago. But there are about twelve other people on the beach, most of them say they were on a plane that crashed here four years ago."

The man blinked. "Yes... I remember that plane."

"Then, you had to have met some of them, right?"

He sighed. "I may have _run into_ a few, here and there. When they crashed, there were more than twelve, I can assure you." With a grunt, he removed his enormous backpack and took a seat on a rock. His narrow shoulder heaved with relief. "But you're right, they're distrustful of outsiders."

"You're telling me?"

The man offered an anemic smile and shrugged. "What I'm telling you is that I don't know what kind of stories this _Jack_ has filled you head with..."

"Adam."

"Adam," he paused. "I'm Dean. Dean Moriarty."

"Adam Riddle," he finished.

"And you have a sister?"

"Olivia."

"Well, Adam... what do you think of Jack?"

He hesitated. This Dean guy was smart, he had a big head, which meant he had a big brain. He didn't want to pick the wrong words embarrass himself. This was his first opportunity to start over. "I think he's afraid of things he can't control, but he's too afraid to take control of anything; so we all just sit on the beach like it's some kind of damn resort. They don't even try to leave."

"Don't you think they would have by now, if they could have?"

"No one wants to. Hell, even my sister doesn't want to, anymore."

"She likes it here?"

Adam shrugged. "'Parently."

"But you still want to leave."

"I had a life back home."

"You could make a life here. The Island isn't so bad, if you don't confine yourself to one little beach. Do you have any idea how big it is?" He paused and a twinkle glimmered in his eye. "Do you want me to show you?"

Adam shrugged with his eyebrows.

"It would, of course, mean crossing the line."

Adam's stomach twisted at the thought. He gritted his teeth against the sensation, cursing Jack again, silently.

"I promise you, there's absolutely nothing to be scared of. I can show you how to survive out here. You don't need Jack telling you what to do."

Releasing a lungful of air through his teeth, Adam shook his head. He whistled a low note. "Partner, you're making a hella lot of sense." His eyes dropped to the ground, to the line of ash. With a defiant step, he crossed the line. A few seconds passed as he breathed the fresher air. "Well, look at that. I didn't explode or nothing."

"And if you ever want to leave, I can show you how."

Adam blinked. "What do you mean?"

The man lowered his voice to an even lower pitch. "Jack's right about one thing... this Island is very, _very_ special. If you want to go, there are ways to get you back home."

A smile spread across Adam's face like butter. The smile became a grin and the grin became a chuckle. His laugher rang out like the cackle of a half-crazed street walker. And then it all stopped. "I can't go without Olivia."

"You can't convince her to come with you?"

He rubbed his face with his open palm. "That's going to be... next to impossible, to convince her. We aren't on great terms right now."

The man stood up. With a grunt, he lifted his backpack and slipped his arm through one of the loops. "Well, I told you where I'm headed. Do you know the area?"

"Yeah... we hunt there, too."

"If you bring Olivia with you, and maybe I can talk to her."

The grin reappeared. Adam looked at the man one last time with eyes narrowed by his pointed cheekbones. He thrust his hand forward. "I got a feeling this is the day my whole life begins to change, Mr. Moriarty."

"Oh, I assure you, Adam, it will. It most certainly will."

* * *

**I apologize this took some time. I took on a part-time job a few weeks ago.**

**If you're still there, please leave me some sort of comment. Please... :)  
**


	10. Push and Pull

_**So it's been a bit of a wait. I'll admit, for a while I had considered this story abandoned. I'm not sure what renewed my interest. I hope that if you're still out there, you'll let me know by commenting a such. It means a lot to me to hear from you guys.**_

* * *

**Chapter Ten**

_Push and Pull_

Olivia took a few steps into the ocean and lowered herself to a crouch, balancing on her toes and watching the bubbles of foam pop. Through tight lips, she pulled in and pushed out a long sigh, her lungs weighed down by Jack's heavy warning. The water rippled under the pressure of her breath. She dipped her hands beneath the surface and swirled a half-hearted circle. Without the benefit of soap, she had only the foam to work up a lather. The smell of fish clung to her fingers like a second skin.

Her stomach churned. With another sigh, she stretched her knees and rose to her full height, drying her palms on the sides of her khaki shorts. (Ugh, how filthy were they now.) The position of the sun suggested it was nearing three o'clock. The heat dried up her open mouth. An attempt to swallow failed and ended with a horse cough. Slowly, she turned around, her head leading and her body reluctant, and started back up the beach.

At the rear of his tent, Richard had lifted a flap. Her eyes were sore from the sun and his eyes were obscured beneath the shadow of the canvass, but they met the moment she turned. Olivia missed a step, one foot falling through a soft spot in the wet sand. She wavered, waiting for him to disappear back inside, recalling the last time they spoke with deserved annoyance. He took a step into the light. With a nod of his head, he called her over. She seriously considered walking in the other direction instead.

A second attempt to swallow was slightly more successful. She ordered her legs to work and began the march up the inclined beach. Richard took another step forward, keeping one hand on the tent flap, holding it above his head. The shade of his blue shirt was a deep berry. The closer she got, the heavier her ankles seemed to grow; her feet left drag lines in the sand.

"Are you okay?" he asked.

Olivia came to a final halt. It was an opening question she had not expected, but she nodded compliantly. Typically, he preferred to get to the point, no chit-chat. She figured she ought to satisfy his obvious interest what she had just confessed to Jack. Best to speed things along. "Yes... just a weird conversation."

"Weird how?"

"Well, I guess I'm officially in the club now. I'm one of the Gnostics."

Richard seemed to gulp. "What did he tell you?"

"Pretty much everything," she said with a ill laugh. "Now I'm supposed to decide how much to tell Adam."

Stepping out into the light, Richard surveyed the beach with a quick turn of his head. He had a long, craning neck and his adams-apple was prominent in the harsh sunlight. "Where is he?"

Olivia shrugged. "He said he was going to use the restroom."

Richard bit his lip. Maybe it was just the sun, but she found it difficult to look him directly in the eye; though if she had, she might have noticed the same ocular avoidance.

"So," he began, quite pregnantly. "He knows what happened?"

"Jack? I had to tell him." But she didn't sound so convinced. "Adam? No way."

"Not yet, at least."

She sighed. Her chest ached. She questioned her eagerness to tell Jack about her encounter with the monster and wondered if she had betrayed Richard in some way. Wordlessly, her face betrayed every thought and Richard nodded, a little pale around the edges. He hadn't been spending much time outside his tent lately, at least not during the day.

"I'll tell him what I have to," she said at length. Maybe a little too long.

Richard released a sigh of his own and offered a forced smile. Olivia wasn't sure what it meant. His fingers began to loosen their hold on the tent flap as he took a step backward. Then he wavered and lingered a moment longer.

"You did the right thing," he said. The lines in his face softened. "Don't worry about me."

Olivia blinked. "I'm sorry, though."

He shook his head. "You have no reason to be." Again, he smiled, and although it was still forced, it was less so.

With that, the tent flap fell and Richard disappeared from sight. She could hear his footsteps for a while, but only a short while. Soon, there was silence within. She assumed he must have sat down, either at the desk or on the bed, and stole a moment to cultivate the details of each possibility in her mind: at the desk, with a book and his wire-rimmed glasses, or flat on the bed with his hands upon his chest; the way his adams-apple shifted upward when he breathed. Then, she decided, it was time to move on.

Making a large circle around the tent, she continued her climb up the beach. As if on cue, Adam broke out of the jungle, the collar of his shirt wet with a necklace of sweat. His wide eyes darted across the sand, following the lead of his pointed nose and chin. He was searching for her, no doubt. Olivia felt her stomach tighten as his gaze locked in on her face. She could almost see the cross-hairs, even if he didn't look furious for once. His lips even parted in a grin, albeit and wild and unsettling one. She halted.

Almost immediately, he was intercepted by Jack, who had taken on his usual stance, his hands upon his hips, his chin tilted upward. It was an aggressive posture, and one that Adam mimicked frequently behind his back. Her brother's look of wide-eyed intent turned to a deeply furrowed scowl.

Her heart beat like a humming-bird's wings: so quickly that it was undetectable at times, a void within her chest. Her legs also seemed to disappear. She was frozen in place, helpless to watch everything explode from a distance. It was a silent movie. She couldn't hear a word, but it wasn't necessary. Minutes ago Jack had given her a preview of the script, and by now she had become overly familiar with every unpleasant facet of her brother's personality. There were no surprises, at least not visually, and she trusted Jack would keep his word and leave the more important issues up to her. For now, he was only reinforcing his authority.

When she finally began to move closer, Olivia wasn't sure. A few steps in and she realized Jack and Adam were suddenly a little clearer, a little larger in her field of vision. Eventually, they had voices, although all she caught was the tail end of Adam's frustrated cry of submission. It was clear he wanted nothing more than put as much distance between himself and Jack as possible, or maybe slug him. Every fiber of his body radiated the heat of hatred. He marched toward Olivia, kicking up sand.

She quickly found herself backing away to make room. "What happened-"

But it was her that he pushed aside. His hand struck her chest with a focused, intense energy. Although, upon later reflection, she would find it difficult to differentiate between the physical force of her brother's hand and the manner in which it ripped through her spirit, like a spiked bullet. Caught off balance, Olivia toppled over. It wasn't sand that broke her fall, but a pair of arms. She followed a line of dark hair from the wrists to the rolls of blue sleeves: a shoulder, a neck, a prominent adams-apple, a face... Richard. His eyes were black, like a shark's eyes, burning holes into the back of Adam's head.

* * *

Supper was not on time that evening, due to a late afternoon shower, but the overall mood seemed unaffected. Overall meaning average. The typically pleasant people, like Hurley and Kate, Lapedus, and even Miles, were in higher spirits than usual, it seemed to counteract Adam's silent rage. He hadn't spoken a word, not to anyone, since Jack's confrontation. But for most, the distance seemed more than welcome. For the first time since the Riddles' arrival, the tribe-or whatever they were-seemed relaxed and carefree.

Olivia herself was still quite shaken. When dinner arrived, she accepted her portion gratefully, but with little intention of eating. Hurley lingered in a manner that she could only compare to being childlike.

"It's Miles's birthday today. At least we think today is Mile's birthday."

"Oh. I'll make sure to say something if I see him later."

"Well, we're going to play some games in a little bit. Interested?"

She raised both eyebrows and brushed back a few loose strands of hair. She looked a mess, no doubt. What she wouldn't give for a little shampoo. "Games?"

"Like party games. Like _would you rather _or _truth or dare_."

She blinked. "Yeah... maybe."

"I'll let you know when we start."

And off he went, makeshift tray of dinners in his hand, and a sort of skip in his step. Olivia released all hold on her head and allowed it to collapse into her chest.

"Come on, man, you never play games with us anymore."

Richard turned slowly in his chair, eyes wide in an exaggerated, incredulous sort of way behind his wire-rimmed glasses. His mouth was turned up at one corner, as if lifted by the lone raised eyebrow above it.

"Okay, so not that you ever did..."

Hurley placed his final meal of the night on the corner of the desk. Richard leaned back to make room, pulling the book he had been reading closer to his chest. "I doubt the night will suffer. I've never been known as the life of the party."

"You could make an effort, man."

At this, Richard removed his glasses and looked up at him squarely. The dim light of the lantern in the tent was scarcely able to reach Hurley's already weakly defined face. He was little more than a round blur, but Richard glowered in its direction nevertheless.

But Hurley was not to be intimidated, and, truthfully, Richard knew he was no great intimidator.

"Come on, dude. Everyone's in a good mood for the first time in forever. Adam's keeping his distance. We all want to play a game." He paused for a moment, obviously to let his plea sink in. "And I'm pretty sure Olivia won't play if you won't."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Richard asked, but his words came somewhat haltingly, like they were jumping over hurdles.

"I think she could use some cheering up, or fun, or, like, something like that. And I don't know if you've realized it, but you're the only person she trusts around here."

Richard blinked, or rather, his eyelids fluttered; the movement was more noticeable on him than on most others. He turned back to his book, too wary of stopping to fiddle with his glasses. He was only pretending to read anyway.

"Or... maybe... not." With a defeated sigh, Hurley turned to leave. His steps were heavy in the sand. Well, heavier than usual. Richard heard him lift the flap of his tent.

"We haven't exactly been _talking _for a while." He called Hurley back without voicing the exact words, and slowly he returned to the same spot as before, just over his shoulder. Richard turned his face to him, resigned to the fact that the conversation was inevitable anyway. "I've been keeping my distance."

"Yeah, I sort of noticed, dude. Why?"

"You know why."

Hurley rolled his eyes upward, as if he was physically searching his brain for something to jog his memory. "Um... no. No, I'm pretty sure I don't."

Finally closing the book, Richard leaned back in his chair, his eyes adopting almost the same brain-wards glance Hurley had just used. The muscles in his forehead cramped before he realized he didn't have the right answer , either. At least not a simple one.

"It's complicated. It's just easier if we keep away from one another."

"Easier?"

"Safer."

"Safe? What does safety have to do-" Abruptly, Hurley stopped, his mouth caught in a large, round circle. Even in the dim lighting, Richard could see his eyes light up for a second. "Oh... Uh, you mean you have one of those... social diseases...?"

If he hadn't been so tightly wound about the subject, Richard might have laughed. Instead, focused on the nauseous sensation building in the pit of his stomach. It was the feeling he got whenever the distance between his own will and the will of others, like a crevasse, grew too wide to leap across. "No... I do not have a venereal disease..."

"Oh. Cool." Hurley breathed a sigh of relief. "So, what's the problem?"

But Richard had reached the end of his tether. "Nothing. There is no problem. I will come to your party."

As always, time proved the honor of his "Yes." Meanwhile, Richard spent the interim trying to remember the last time he had told someone "No" and held himself to it.

* * *

"One, two, three, four, five... six! Six? Seriously?"

Sawyer's index finger flopped back into his lap, a look of supreme disappointment upon his face.

Kate leaned in beside him. "Guess you're not as special as you thought."

"Seriously? Six of you have eaten snake?"

"You think it's that hard to come across?" This came from Miles, who was on the opposite side of the circle.

"Well, not any more... Kato."

The object of the game was to share a secret, or something the leader felt he was singular in achieving. Then the rest of the group would have to reveal whether or not it was a shared experience. If the leader was in the minority, he got a point, and five points if he had given something no one could match. Points were deducted for making crap up.

"Who's turn is it?" asked Kate.

"Someone who hasn't eaten snake..."

"Sun or Hurley, then."

"I'll go," Hurley announced. "I'll go... " He hummed quietly as he thought for a few seconds. A grin caught the firelight just beyond the circle. "I have... a Camero."

"PFT!" came the resounding hiss of defeat.

The majority of the secrets were of this nature: harmless. Most everyone was attempting to show off, to one-up a group of people for whom the playing field had been leveled long ago. Some alcohol would have made things more interesting, but there wasn't any left.

Olivia had not yet taken a turn, and had spend the last few rounds trying to think of something unrevealing to offer when her number was up. She lived on a farm, which was a storehouse of anecdotes. Well, _had_ lived.

It wasn't that she didn't trust these people specifically with her secrets. She had just never been very good at talking about herself.

No one had mentioned milking a cow, yet. That seemed like a safe answer. Or maybe that she had a bug collection, something she started as a child and never thrown away. It was even organized by species; but mostly butterflies, so she might just call it a butterfly collection. That was a little less gross, right? But Olivia suspected it was the kind of statement that very few could match, and that would mean she had to go again.

"I own my own restaurant chain." This was Hurley's own second turn and it garnered the same response as his first. He snickered with delight, which made Olivia smile, but she couldn't imagine feeling so gleeful herself. The game wasn't worth this much anxiety, she knew, but this was her chance to make a second impression upon this people-these people that she very much liked. Second chances rarely came. It bothered her to think that up until now, they could probably only think of her as the girl in the balloon, or (probably worse) Adam's sister.

Unfortunately, Olivia had the kind of mind that cracked a little under pressure-just the slightest bit, but it allowed all kinds of crazy thoughts to sneak into her consciousness. _Tell them you broke both legs when you were nine, because you wanted to see if you could fly, and your friend who didn't get off so easy. Tell them about the time you drove drunk. _Embarrassing anecdotes, painful memories. _Tell them about your grandmother beating you for watching a rated-R movie. Tell them you're still a virgin._

"Well, speak of the devil..."

This comment came from Sawyer, and Olivia, despite her preoccupation, was quick to realize that he wasn't talking about the game. His eyes were pointed over their heads. When she twisted around, she saw Richard strutting down the beach. As he neared the fire, the colors of his skin and clothing brightened, and then dimmed as he passed. He came to a halt between Miles and Lapedus, where there was a little gap.

"Ol' Richard's come a-haunting," Saywer finished.

"Mind if I join you?"

Jack shook his head. He seemed pleased. "Not at all."

The rules of the game were quickly explained. Olivia kept quiet, and battled a new feeling of uneasiness as it crept up her spine. Not the sort that foretold bad luck, but more like a change in the weather. The wind was picking up. When Richard looked directly at her and offered a meek smile, she felt something warm touch the small of her back.

"The man of a thousand secrets..." Saywer whispered, in a voice that was meant to be heard by all.

Richard flexed his brows. "I'm not sure I have any left..." There was a pause for a few chuckles before he continued. "I used to own my own a farm."

A low murmur moved through the circle. The consensus was that indeed no one had known this before. Not even Olivia. Slowly, she lifted her hand. She was the only one.

Richard tilted his head. And smiled.

"You just stole mine," Olivia said. "I, uh... I was home-schooled?" She phrased it like a question, as if she was unsure her second choice was good enough.

The group looked at one another and shook their various heads.

"I never went to school," Richard stated, a little slyly, like he was cracking some sort of code, and pleased with himself.

"Was that your turn or were you just commenting?" she asked.

"My turn."

"Five points," Hurley announced. "Go again."

Richard, who was sitting with one knee pointed toward the night sky, hugged that same leg a little closer to his chest. His lips parted as he considered his options, and the silence spread through the circle like ripples in a lake. There was something decidedly out of the ordinary taking place. Even Sawyer had shut up.

"I... knew Ben Linus when he was a child."

What moved through the circle now was a heterogeneous mixture sounds, some breathy utterances of confusion, some low notes of grumbling, and something that sounded like pity. Olivia looked from face to face, searching for some stronger clues as to what Richard was talking about. Kate, Jack, Jin, Sawyer, and Hurley raised their hands.

"I thought that might be a majority," Richard murmured.

"I'll go," Kate said. The mood of the game was decidedly in the midst of shifting. Even Olivia's own hands were tingling ever so slightly. "Every day I regret giving my son to his real grandmother, even though I know it's what I had to do. I mean, I really regret it."

The existence of Kate's son was something never spoken of directly. It was something detectable only to one who listened to pauses as much as words.

"So... we raise our hands if we have a kid?" Miles asked. "Like a kid who doesn't know us?"

This earned a few glares, as Kate's statement had been something she just needed it get off her chest. Still, Sawyer and Jin raised their hands. Sun pulled her husband in close. The rest of the players looked to one another, acknowledging that the rules of the game had changed, and that no one was eager to take the next turn.

Olivia took advantage of the quiet moment. "Who's Ben Linus?"

She was looking directly at Richard, but it was Jack who answered. "He lives on the Island, but no one's seen him for a long time."

"He's a homicidal maniac," Sawyer added.

"He's a _what_?" Olivia gasped.

Finally, Richard replied. "He's... a very good example of going about good things the wrong way."

Sawyer not only rolled his eyes, but his entire head. "Oh, I forgot, you two were friends."

"Absolutely not," Richard rebuked him emphatically. "No. No one has more of a reason to despise Ben Linus than I do."

"Funny," Sawyer began, his face transforming into a collection of harsh points. His eyes seemed to give off as much heat as the fire. "Because if I remember correctly, you two have a hell of a lot in common."

Richard's own face turned to stone. His entire body, with one knee pointed toward the night sky, became a statue on the beach. Only the bulging veins in his temples hinted at any sign of life, and his golden cross swung from his extended neck. Without a word, he pushed himself to his feet and covered ground quickly in the direction of his tent. As he passed the fire, streams of sweat glistened on the back of his hair.

Olivia could feel her heart beating in her skull. A quick look around the circle showed that as many eyes were upon her as Richard. As she stood, she knew she was making a bigger statement than almost anything she could have said during the game. She crossed the circle, and followed him.

"Richard..."

He waited until he was almost beside his tent to acknowledge her. His eyes quickly moved from her face to the circle by the fire and back again. "I'm sorry," he said, apologizing, above everything else, for being himself.

She wasn't exactly sure what she wanted, or even ought to say. Whatever Ben Linus had done, she was more inclined to give anyone Richard was associated with the benefit of a doubt. "I can see why you keep to yourself."

Richard shrugged, for her sake. "It's nothing new."

With a weak smile, he attempted to send her away, maybe back to the game, if she so chose. He reached behind his back for the flap of his tent. Olivia took a step forward, her fingertips tingling for a second time than night. She touched nothing but the air. Richard had already vanished inside.

It was a few hours later, that Olivia was wrenched from her sleep by an arm around her waist and a hand covering her mouth.


	11. Flashback

**Chapter Eleven**

_Flashback_

_

* * *

_

It was possible that she had passed out at some point along the way, but the nightmare of which Olivia drifted in and out was not much different than the waking world. There seemed to be more light in the parallel world she dreamed, but the images that passed were ashen and grotesque. Opening her eyes revealed nothing but blackness. Her senses could only rely on the taste of a hand pressed against her mouth and the smell of something vaguely familiar. When she was awake, she bucked like a wild animal, but the man was too strong, and he seemed to anticipate her every move.

That the man was her brother was something she would realize seconds before his face was revealed. They came to a clearing, where a torch had been spiked into the ground. His red shirt was lit up and his pointed chin became a different color than the blackness that surrounded them: black sky, black earth, black trees. Dropping her feet to the ground, he retained control with his large hands around her shoulders. His grip was so tight that it wasn't difficult to imagine her shoulder blades snapping if she made a sudden movement.

Olivia shivered and trembled, barely able to look directly into his eyes. The light the torch cast blood curdling shadows in every direction, but his face took the worst of it.

"Have you gone insane?" Her voice sounded as though her lungs were frozen solid. In fact, her lips and fingertips were ice cold.

"No. Oh, no." Adam shook his head. He cackled. "I'm the only one left who can save you."

"W- What?"

"You've gotten so tangled up in their ways, you've lost all sense of what's really going on. They're lying to you, Liv. Every single one of them."

The longer she looked at him, the more difficult it became to remember their lifetime together. The tips of his canines caught the light like a vampire's. The shadows beneath his eyes made them look sunken, the same way the hollows of his cheeks had become gaunt. This was a madman she had never met. This was Mr. Hyde.

"You dragged me into the jungle..."

"It's neutral territory."

"W- What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means... that we've crossed the ash."

To prove his point, Adam took a step backward, taking his hands with him. Olivia struggled to find her balance, still shivering, as her gaze moved from tree to tree. Her brain seemed to be a step behind her senses. Then, all at once, it came to a head. Adam was back upon her in a second, while she convulsed, screaming for help, that he was out of his mind, that they needed to run away. Tears were shaken loose from her eyes. Finally, his hand was pressed against her mouth with such force that it felt like a slap.

And she stopped. She stopped everything but her breathing, which came like gasps through her nose.

"I'm not the one who's lost his mind, you are. You are, Liv. You know what you look like, now? Are you afraid of the Monster? There is no Monster, Liv."

With a violent shake of her head, she threw off his filthy hand. "Yes, there is, Adam. Adam, I've seen it."

His wild grin faltered. "What?"

"I've seen the Monster. Right here. In this very spot."

"When?"

"When Richard and I fell behind. Remember? When we disappeared." She expected him to interrupt, to blast Richard like he always did, but instead his face had turned blank. "He walked into this clearing... I followed him. We were attacked. The only reason why we didn't die was because we had enough ash left for ourselves..."

Her voice faded into breathy gasps as Adam's expression changed. His eyes narrowed. He glanced toward the sky and the tight knit, surrounding trees. It was like they were in a perfect cage. "What did it look like?"

Olivia's eyelids fluttered, as she realized she had misspoke.

"Must have been an awfully small monster. It didn't do much damage."

"I- I didn't see it. I kept my eyes closed."

The corner of Adam's lips turned upward. The look was as victorious as it was infuriating.

"It was real, Adam. I heard it. I felt it right next to my face."

His fingertips tightened around her shoulders, as he began to lower himself to her height, like one might bend to a stubborn child. She squirmed against his grip.

"Did you ever think," he began, "Maybe it was all part of their plan? Maybe Richard was supposed to lead you away. Maybe everyone knew you would follow him."

Olivia shook her head. "You're crazy..."

"No, the real problem here is that everyone-including you-think's I'm too stupid to figure things out, to put it all together. They've convinced you that I'm a problem."

"Do you even realize what you've done tonight? You kidnapped me. You dragged me into the jungle in the middle of the night."

"I needed to take you to a place where they couldn't possibly hear us."

"Past the ash?"

"And where's the Monster? Where's the Monster, Liv?"

The words didn't echo, but rose upward, through the break in the canopy. Like birds, they flew from the clearing. Olivia's eyes fell, fell upon a little pile of white dust by the light of the torch. How many days had it been since she and Richard made their circle? She could recall the growl of the Monster as it lapped at her face, she could still feel Richard's shoulder blades digging against her spine, and the way his hand had searched for hers, and the prayer he murmured. But now the memories seemed fuzzy, their edges poorly defined, and the sound of the prayer like a unintelligible whoosh of wind...

* * *

It was a symphony with untuned instruments: the sounds of footsteps and electronic blips, the squeaky wheels of gurneys and drone of exhausted voices; all of it reverberating inside her skull. A stranger moaned behind a curtain, and Olivia felt her heart sink further into her stomach. Her head fell into her hands, scraping against the plastic bracelet fastened to her wrist.

She had been discharged over an hour ago, and had only been admitted for a few cuts and scrapes. And questions. Innumerable questions. But now the police, who thus far had been her only visitors, were gone. She was blameless, they had said. They didn't expect any trouble. They would call her in the morning, which wouldn't be much longer. Through a slit-like window, the sky had turned from black to purple. Blue couldn't be very long off.

Olivia lifted her eyes and saw a nurse staring at her from across the corridor. Her face was somehow simultaneously stern and blank, the red veins that threaded her eyes being the only signal of her humanity. Leaning against the counter of a paperwork station, she arrhythmically tapped a pencil eraser against a folder and shook her head.

"If you're waiting for a ride, you can go back to the _waiting_ room."

"I can't stay here?" The words came slowly, with trepidation.

"This area is for friends and family only."

"I... am her friend..."

The nurse flexed her eyebrows. "Oh? Well, then maybe when your _friend_ wakes up, you can drive her home. Oh, wait. That won't be happening."

She used the word _friend _like it didn't belong in the sentence, as if it was interchangeable with words like _toothbrush _or _guitar_. Olivia didn't respond. She barely reacted. She remained in her seat, and watched the nurse as she pushed herself away from the station and disappeared around a corner. It was only then that she murmured, and almost inaudibly, "No one else knows she's here..."

"Liv?"

This voice came from the opposite direction. Her head shot up, like a puppet on a string, or maybe like a dog on a leash. A pair of double doors swung behind Adam, who wore what was certainly a pajama top over his jeans. Olivia brushed back a wild lock of hair and felt what remained of her mascara against her palm. It came off along with a few specks of glittery eye shadow.

"Adam..."

Soon, her arms were around him in the tightest embrace she had ever given. Tears ran afresh down the runners in her cheeks.

"Adam... I didn't see her. I don't know how it happened."

"The police called." He was moving her back toward the chair, pausing momentarily to pick up a second one from another spot. He settled in beside her. One side of his face was stamped with the pattern of wrinkled fabric. "You- you hit- were you... What, were you drunk, or something?" By the end, his voice had become a very low whisper.

"No. I wasn't. I wasn't drunk... or high or..." Between words, she struggled for regular breath. At age seventeen, Olivia hadn't touched more than beer. Now, even that seemed like too much, too soon, as Adam shook his head in disbelief. "You have to believe me."

His reply was a sickly sort of chuckle. His face turned to the spot on the floor between his feet.

"It's in the police report. They told me it couldn't have been my fault."

Adam turned back to her, looking at her sideways. "You were the one driving, Liv. Heather Smyth... is it her fault?"

"...No."

It had to be someone's fault.

Otherwise the universe was chaotic, and God was random, and the stars would start falling to the earth... Just like their grandmother always said, just like Adam liked to repeat.

With a sigh, Adam covered his face with both hands. He stretched his long back against the chair and tapped the back of his head on the wall. "Oh, gosh..." he groaned.

"It's my fault, because I shouldn't have gone to the party..."

Her voice was breaking. Olivia squeezed her eyelids shut and felt tears bubble out onto her knees. A few seconds later, there was an arm around her shoulders. Adam pulled her in close - so tightly, that she felt her shoulder blades might snap under the pressure, but she didn't utter a sound. She was already broken.

"It's... gonna be okay. Not right away, but... eventually."

She nodded against his chest. "It was an accident."

But even allowing the words to finally escape her lips did nothing to comfort her.

* * *

"You mean a stranger in the jungle _told_ you he can get you off this Island?"

Adam paced in front of her, shoulders high against his neck. "He's no more a stranger than anyone on your beach."

"_My_ beach?"

"What makes them so trustworthy? Really, Liv? You believe them over your own brother."

"Because you're acting crazy, Adam! Did you really think I was going to run away with you in the middle of the night? What part of this don't you understand?"

"Will you keep your voice down?"

Olivia took her first step away from the tree that had been propping her up for so long. Her legs wobbled for a moment and she struggled to keep her footing. Every cell in her body felt like it was on the verge of explosion. "In about a minute, I'm going to start running back."

His teeth glimmered in the firelight, but his smile was cracked with defeat. He snorted. "Thanks for the warning."

"Are you coming with me or not?" she asked.

He halted. "Nope."

Olivia's jaw fell an inch. Her head swung loosely atop her neck. "Adam..." she sighed. "Adam, you can't do this."

"I guess this is good-bye, Liv." He crossed the short distance to the torch and plucked it from the ground.

"Why can't you talk to the others about this? Maybe they know this person you met. Maybe they'll be okay with you leaving." The world around her had taken on a darker shade of black. The contrast seemed to increase with her heart rate.

As Adam turned, away from her, the fire carved a half-circle in the air above his head, like a malformed halo. "It's not their decision. And you've clearly chosen them over me, so..."

Her fingers tightened into balls around the hem of her shorts. Her frustration, the need to tear at something, to break something down and destroy it, was beginning to overwhelm. "I'm only going to tell them what direction you went!"

The denouement was swift. Wordlessly, he turned, and Olivia began to tremble. A step backward was disrupted by an unexpected tree. The last thing she felt was a dull pain in her temple, the last thing she heard was an apology, and the last thing she saw was her brother's fist.

* * *

**_Hopefully those flashback transitions are intelligible. It was awesome to hear from you guys. Please continue to let me know you're __there.__ Like I always say, I 've already finished this story, in my mind. The only reason to write it down and post it is if other people are interested. Comment to keep it going. :)_**


	12. Tension

**Chapter Twelve**

_Tension_

Olivia dapped at the raw skin on her forehead. It seemed to have scabbed over, but still she checked her fingertips for blood. It was early morning and the light from the sun was a very pure white. With the jungle to her back, the only shadows that moved back and forth across her form were human. Jack and Richard alternated between pacing and kneeling in front of her, and presently, it was Jack's face directly before her own. He lifted his hand to her forehead and examined it for what was surely the tenth time. She winced, even under the pressure of his healing touch. The headache remained.

"Unfortunately, we don't have anything for the pain." He paused briefly, just long enough to take a breath. "You can't remember anything else?"

"I think I remember all of it, just nothing after this." She gestured to her injury and unintentionally caught Richard's eye in the process. He had been silent for a while and the muscles in his angular jaw protruded to show that it was clenched.

"He said he was going to meet someone?" Jack asked. "He didn't say who?"

"No."

A sideways glance revealed a second pow-wow between Kate and Sawyer, and possible Hurley and Miles. It was difficult to tell exactly who was speaking to whom. Kate was tightening the straps on a very weathered backpack.

"If we took you back to the spot, do you think you could figure out which way he went?"

"Maybe." She looked from Jack to Richard and back again. "But it's beyond the ash."

Jack pushed himself to his feet and rolled to his full height. He exchanged a glance with Richard, and a nod. "We know."

With that, he left in the direction of Kate and Sawyer. Olivia felt her heart sink somehow even further so that it was beating in her stomach. Adam's departure was not allowed to be her own sorrow, her own unexpected and searing loneliness. Now they were preparing to track him like a wild animal.

A hand upon her shoulder called her back. Richard's hand. He had taken a seat beside her, the closest they had been in days. Her eyes fell into place with his and she remembered once more the way his hand had gripped hers in the jungle. Her heart skipped a disconcerting beat, followed by a wave of nausea, and she crawled to her feet, letting Richard's hand slide from her shoulder onto the sand as she followed Jack and the others.

* * *

When they reached the clearing, the light was more yellow and the air was considerably more thick. There was no doubt that rain was approaching. The pressure in the air dropped as their emotions mounted. Time was a sure-footed villain, racing away from them.

Hurley and Miles had not come along, and it was only the five of them: Kate and Sawyer, Jack, Richard, and Olivia. The first three examined the area, moving like electrons around an atom, the center being a small ring of muddy ash. Of the five, two of them kept their distance from it, and each other; one seemed to take a perverse interest; and the final two spent their time examining the trees at the edge of the clearing.

"There are two fresh paths," Kate finally announced, moving closer to the center. She pointed to the spots, both in the opposite direction of the beach.

"Two..." Olivia repeated, more of a musing than a question. Jack looked to her for some indication of which one was most likely, and Olivia returned with a blank and unhelpful stare, but it occurred to her that it might jog her memory to recreate the scene.

"I came out of the jungle here..." she began, returning to the same path they had taken from the beach. "And... Adam pinned me against this tree."

Olivia pressed her back against it and allowed a few moments for her spine to settle against the bark. She closed her eyes and confirmed that the sensation was the same from behind the curtain of her eyelids, like the darkness of the middle of the night. The red glow of the sun took the place of Adam's torch. The salty taste of dried blood and old sweat mingled at the corners of her mouth, and for a second she traveled a few hours back in time. When her eyes opened, it was nearly jarring not to see her brother, or the moon overhead. The skin on the back of her neck was cold and hot at the same time.

"Ooo, pinned," she heard as her eyes readjusted to the light, as Sawyer stood at the corner of her vision. He sauntered from the center of the ash circle to Richard's side. His voice was cooing and dove-like, and somehow hostile too. "You wanna play the part of Adam, Richard?"

For good measure, Sawyer laid a hand on Richard's shoulder. Richard's glare was a sharpened knife. He rolled his shoulder aggressively to shake off Sawyer like an insect and crossed to the other end of the clearing.

"Were you standing there when he hit you?" Jack asked, not oblivious to the exchange, but unimpressed.

Her chest tightened. "No... I was..." She took a step forward, realizing it was not only her chest that had tightened but her entire body. Her legs were reluctant to move, but she forced them for the sake of keeping it together more than anything else. Moving backward, she took up another station and looked down at the ground. "Here."

"So Adam came at you like this?" It was Sawyer again, attempting to be more helpful, but failing as he marched toward her with his fist raised.

"James!" Kate warned. No, not just Kate. There had been two voices at once. Once again, Olivia unintentionally caught Richard's eye.

"If we're trying to get her memory going, then we need to put a little more effort into it."

Kate rolled her eyes and turned her back on the group, returning to the trails while everyone watched.

"Maybe we could split up," Olivia offered.

"Looks like we'll have to." Sawyer shifted his weight onto one hip and thought silently brief moment, but still it was clear he was waiting for any objections. "Kate?" Nothing. He turned to Olivia, "You okay with going deeper into the jungle? Ain't no time to take you back."

She nodded. It was a definitive nod. Not the sort she typically gave.

"All right then. I'll go with the Doc? Kate, you can take Olivia and Richard."

Jack lifted his hands to his waist and rested them there. It was one of what Olivia had begun to think of as his arsenal of stances. This one seemed to state there was nothing left to be said. As he nodded, he took in a short pull of air through his nose. Kate was the best tracker, but Sawyer was second, and it was undeniably better to keep him away from certain members of their little party.

Kate nodded too. "Head back to the beach if the trail goes cold."

* * *

**I know, short, right? Sorry. Limited time lately. I wanted this chapter to cover more ground, but I decided I'd rather not keep putting off posting. More to follow shortly.**


	13. Madam, I'm Adam

So, elephant in the room: it's been a while. Lots of reasons. Parents had health problems, but all is well now. As for me, this story's still being written. Hope you're still reading. Do me a favor and let me know you're still here. Please review!

I felt like some might need a quick way to catch up, so I broke out an old standard...

* * *

**Previously, on LOST...**

_At dawn, a pink and yellow hot air balloon moves quickly over the white hot sand. Chaos erupts on the beach as Jack and Richard gape in bewilderment. A young woman and man, unconscious, are propped up against trees. The woman wakes, Jack asks her name, and she answers, "...Olivia. Riddle. Olivia Riddle."_

_Richard folds a pair of women's spectacles and drops them into his pocket. Jack stands and Richard asks, "Did you bring them here?" "No, I didn't," Jack replies_

_At night, Hurley approaches Richard by the edge of the water. He speaks in Spanish, "Everything okay?" Richard shakes his head, "That was, incredibly strange." For a moment, the image of the hot air balloon resurfaces, and panning around to the front of the basket, the name Isabella appears in bright red felt. Returning to the night, Olivia and her brother Adam hold conference with one another in secret. "Do you really think these people are the only inhabitants?" he asks, clearly discontent, gesturing to a bruise on his forehead._

_Silhouetted by the weak light of the early morning, an imposing figure takes a knife to a bolt of pink and yellow fabric._

_Afternoon on the next day, the entire community is drawing a line of ash through the jungle. Richard is last in line, and Olivia falls back to join him. "Whoever it was that destroyed our balloon, they don't cross it?" Richard nods. Olivia goes on, "We should be dead. I have the weirdest feeling ... that I'm here for something." Richard looks away, "It will probably fade."_

_Minutes later, Richard and Olivia find themselves alone in a clearing, as the trees explode around them. The howl of the Smoke Monster fills the air as dust and debris fly in every direction. In a circle of ash, they clutch each other's hands, standing back-to-back. In Spanish, Richard murmurs a portion of the Our Father._

_At night, in Richard's tent, Olivia pulls a chair across from him on the bed. "What the hell was that thing?" "That was... the monster." They move about the tent, until they are separated by a partition. "He especially doesn't like me," Richard says, "I think he was curious about you, because you spend so much time with me." As the sky changes to morning, Olivia replies, "So, maybe we shouldn't spend so much time together anymore."_

_Another day, not so far away, Adam and Olivia are scaling fish. Clearly angry, Adam throws his knife down and stomps off into the jungle, muttering about secrets and the others calling him an idiot. Kate approaches Olivia, "Things happen, people take sides... it would be very dangerous right now if Adam defected." "Defected to what?" Olivia asks._

_In the jungle, Adam sits with Ben Linus. "I can show you how to survive out here. You don't need Jack telling you what to do." Adam's smile begins to spread. Ben goes on, "This Island is very, very special. But if you want to go, there are ways to get you back home."_

_In the middle of the night, Adam releases his hold on a ragged looking Olivia. The light of a torch is all that illuminates them. They are beyond the line of ash. "Have you gone insane?" she gasps. "There is no Monster, Liv," he replies. "It's real, Adam. I heard it. I felt it right next to my face." "Did you ever think," he begins, "Maybe it's all part of their plan? Maybe Richard was supposed to lead you away. Maybe everyone knew you would follow him. The real problem here is that everyone think's I'm too stupid to figure things out. They've convinced you that I'm a problem."_

_"Adam, you can't do this."_

_"You've clearly chosen them over me, so..."_

_With a swing of his arm, Olivia falls to the ground, unconscious._

**...L O S T...**

Chapter 13

_Madam, I'm Adam_

The rain had come and gone and come again, and by Richard's estimation, it was well past lunch by the time they finally rested for a meal. Not that it much mattered; he wasn't hungry. He was rarely hungry. He did, however, feel thirsty much more often than he believed he should, than he knew was normal. It was not due to the hiking, or stress, or any sort of recent event. It was the way things always were. The thirst was ever-present. Richard Alpert, it seemed by definition, was constantly thirsty.

There was probably some sort of symbolism in there somewhere.

Either way, he took a seat on a rock and twisted off the cap of his canteen. The canopy overhead shielded him so that the rain was just a drizzle, or maybe the weather was finally letting up. Again, the circumstances didn't matter much. His clothing was already soaked. They were all sopping wet. Olivia, perhaps, worst of all, with her impressive mass of hair clinging to her face and shoulders like an octopus. She did not look too dissimilar from Kate; but Kate had weathered enough storms to know how to bear it. For her, this was a mild inconvenience, while Olivia had the demeanor of a frightened kitten, defenseless, her claws unsharpened, her body not built for fighting, and something deep inside Richard's chest ached when he looked at her for too long. The bruise on her temple had spread around her left eye, turning her olive complexion to sallow green.

"Will rain ruin the trail?" Olivia asked, shaking her head at the canteen as it was offered. She pulled back a few tentacles of hair and gave them a twist, like squeezing water from of a towel. A heavy flow of liquid splashed on the ground.

"It won't make it easier," Kate replied. She was standing with her back to them, examining a tree they had already passed. Her fingers dapped at the bark and she retraced their last few steps.

Olivia watched Kate intently. "There's no way to tell if we're on the right trail? It's still possible we're being misled, right?"

"Then Jack and Sawyer will find him." Richard took another swallow of water.

"You're _sure _you were in the clearing alone?" asked Kate, finally turning and holding out her hand for the canteen. It was not the first time the question had been uttered, of course.

"I didn't see anyone else," Olivia said, unconvinced that what she saw mattered much. Abruptly, she rose to her feet and paced a few steps, her hands fidgeting with the hem of her shirt. "Excuse me."

With that, she quickened her movements and disappeared into the foliage. Richard leapt from his perch, muttering a few surprised noises. Kate smiled and shook her head, the smile breaking into a grin. "Relax, Richard. I'm pretty sure she just needs to use the bathroom."

"Oh..."

Still, he didn't sit, and Kate's grin remained. Richard's forehead softened. He rapped his fingertips against the wet pockets of his trousers and relocated to Kate's opposite side. She passed him a small rectangle in white Dharma paper, some sort of protein bar, which he unwrapped haphazardly.

"I think it's sweet," she said, too innocently for it to have been completely innocent.

"What is?" he asked.

Kate shrugged. "You know what I mean."

Richard felt his tongue swell against the roof of his mouth, though his expression betrayed almost nothing. That he was startled, he could not completely hide, but he knew he ought to have anticipated some sort of comment along the trail. What he did not expect was how he found himself fighting the urge to confide in Kate. His jaw began to ache from the toughness of the ancient candy bar. He was not sure what he wanted to say, but he had been forced, in a split second, into a position where he had to admit, at least to himself, that there was something worth saying. Unfortunately, or perhaps the opposite, his mouth was already full.

"Don't let Sawyer get to you," she continued. "He just likes an easy target."

He swallowed, or attempted it. When he tried speaking, he realized his mouth was still mostly full. "My skin's not that thin, Kate."

She stood, slipping her backpack over her shoulders. "I know," she said, her smile gentle now-maternal might have even been the best word for it. She passed him, and with her the preverbal hand of friendship she had outstretched. Richard could not ignore the a moment of clarity was also slipping through his grasp. A brief micro-second of sanity.

"I just... feel badly for her," he said, following it with a sigh that almost signaled relief. "And I want to punch Adam in the mouth."

His self-conscious laughter came like a bird attacking the wires of it's cage: distorted, but an undoubtable reminder that something alive was trapped inside. Kate took a step closer, so that he had the freedom to lower his voice. Olivia's footsteps had begun again in the distance.

"It's doesn't matter, though," he continued, his expression sober once again.

Kate's eyebrows lowered. "Why?"

Instead of replying, Richard nodded in the direction over Kate's shoulder. Olivia had reappeared. The three faced each other for an awkward moment, one knowing she had been spoken about, and two realizing they had been caught.

Kate suggested they keep moving.

* * *

An uneasy feeling had taken root in the pit of Kate's stomach; and like one of the jungle trees, it had grown too tall to manage. If tracking a was processing a series of variables and equations, something was not adding up. The inconsistencies had trickled in at first, collecting in a stagnant pool of doubt that now looked too deep to ford. Overhead, the clouds had broken apart, revealing the sun stationed at roughly three-o'clock when Kate halted unexpectedly. She listened to Olivia's footfalls stop first, followed by Richard's, and she turned to face them, her expression the prologue to a very short tale.

"I don't think this is the right trail." She shook her head and looked directly at Olivia. "I'm sorry."

Richard released a short burst of air through his nose. He looked back the way they had come, brows knit. "That's a long way to have come, Kate."

"Why is this trail so long if it isn't the right one?" asked Olivia, who looked as if she'd just been dealt the Queen of Spades. Kate crossed past her, moving back down the small hill they had just climbed. Olivia's eyes moved from one corner to the other, expectant upon Kate for an explanation. None came right away.

Kate stopped beside Richard. "We want to make it to the beach before dark."

Olivia repeated her question, raising her voice as though she had not been heard the first time. "Why is this trail so long if it isn't the right one?"

"Because we're being misled," Kate finally replied.

"By Moriarity? I mean-_Ben_?"

With repressed urgency, Kate waved her onward, but Olivia was stuck in place. A sideways glance toward Richard, and he took a few steps to her side and coaxed her down the little hill with his hand on her elbow. She pried her feet from the ground as though they had been planted there.

"Then Jack and Sawyer will find him, right?" Her eyes moved between Kate and Richard, searching their faces for any indication of hope. Kate nodded, because it was the only thing she could give the poor girl. Wondering where Jack and Sawyer had ended up was a game she wasn't ready to play, but this was no time for the whole truth. When Kate began to march back down the path they had struck, Olivia followed, and Richard once again took up the rear, silently.

"It's obvious you're not telling me something."

"There's nothing to tell, yet," Kate replied. "I promise."

"Are we in danger?"

"Maybe."

"Just... why don't you think this is Adam's path?"

There was a pause before Kate's answer-several seconds, actually. "Because the path is too direct."

"...What?"

Unseen by either of them, Richard's neck snapped from his feet to the back of the women's heads.

"What do you mean, too direct?" asked Olivia.

Kate turned her head a bit, still marching forward, but keeping the others in the corner of her eye. "Traveling in the middle of the night... going to a place he had never been before... you should see signs of hesitation... or mistakes..." As she spoke, her words were broken up by brief grunts and quick breaths, as she cut back through the jungle path.

"You mean, it looks like he knew exactly where he was going?" The tone of Olivia's voice wavered between dawning comprehension and lingering incredulousness. "Maybe he did. Or he could have been following someone. Like Ben."

Kate shook her head. "It's just one person."

"Then maybe he had a map."

At this, Olivia halted once again, and as Kate turned around she caught Richard come very close to plowing into her back. His head had been turned over his shoulder. Kate walked toward them, her jaw a little tight, but it was not frustration or impatience she wanted to convey. "Olivia, I know how horrible this feels right now. Believe me. But you also need to trust me."

Now it was Olivia who was silent. A tense breath was all that escaped her lips, and she looked away, into the dense trees.

"I promise you, we are not giving up."

A tear appeared at the corner of her eye, beside her nose. Olivia brushed it away with her fingertips and turned to look in the opposite direction. Kate cringed to think had done something to make the poor girl want to hide her pain, and so she placed a hand upon her shoulder. "Hey..." And Olivia faced her.

"I promise."

With a little nod, Olivia allowed Kate to coax her forward, and she slipped a familial arm around her back. A few steps along the path, and both woman looked back to see that Richard had not yet begun to follow. They called his name and he held up a finger.

"Do you hear that?" His voice trailed off as he turned round.

"Hear what?" asked Kate, but the question sounded as if had gotten caught in her mouth, because no sooner than she said it that she _did_ hear.

Olivia broke free of Kate's hold and moved closer to Richard. The _sound_ began to grow louder; or _sounds_, because they seemed as though they were multiplying. First, no more than a little rustle, then a pair of footfalls unconcerned with shielding themselves, and finally then a voice.

"Adam," Olivia gasped. And like a horse out of the gate, she was off.

* * *

Richard quickly fell behind the two women. Olivia chased the sound of her brother's voice and Kate chased Olivia; Richard followed, consciously staggering himself. He turned every now and then to scan the rear, make sure they weren't running into some sort of trap. At least, not an obvious one. Although if they were being followed, things probably would have made a lot more sense.

Adam entered into view like a man taking the stage. His gate was an easy saunter as he slowed, and he paused on the hill with a tilted hip; all things considered, he hardly seemed a man who had run blindly into the night. Richard felt his stomach recoil against the back of his ribs. On Adam's shoulder hung his tattered backpack, low and lazy. He secured the strap with his hand as he climbed down to meet them, his eyes moving from Olivia to Richard and finally lingering on Kate.

"So," he began, his gaze locked in like an arrow pointing. "Going hunting?"

Richard looked aside to see Kate clutching a pistol level with her hip. He could feel the muscles around his eyes tighten with a flare as they momentarily bulged. She nodded apologetically, but held onto the gun, beginning a quick sweep of the area. Olivia made a guttural sound from deep within her throat and Adam turned to her with a cocked eyebrow. His features were more rigid now, his jaw clearly tense. "You guess didn't follow me because you changed your mind, so...?"

"Will you listen?" Olivia asked.

Adam shifted his weight to the opposite hip, observing Kate briefly before rolling his eyes. "Go ahead."

Olivia pulled a breath through her nose. Before she could begin to speak, Richard dropped a hand upon her shoulder. She turned and he gestured toward Kate, who closed the perimeter she had stalked with a shake of her head. They were alone. At least as close as they could reasonably hope.

"You seem to know exactly where you were going," Kate began. Richard ever-so-slightly tightened his grip on Olivia's shoulder. She held her breath, glancing sideways with eyes bespoke the precarious state of her emotions. But she understood his warning, and so he dropped his hand.

"Well, I do," Adam replied. A shrewd smile appeared.

"I wouldn't be so sure," said Richard.

Finally, Kate holstered her gun on the back of her pants. "Look, I'm sure Ben Linus has promised you a lot of things, but-"

"That's his real name, by the way," Richard interjected.

"-But getting involved with him is very, _very _dangerous."

Adam folded his arms. "Dangerous, eh? More dangerous than, say, a monster made of smoke?"

Richard's mouth went dry. His throat fluttered. "How do you know about-?" Was it possible, he wondered, that Olivia told Adam more than she had admitted? But she had not seen the creature. Or had she? Static invaded his brain momentarily.

Adam came a step further down the hill, so that he was a step closer. He shook his head. "You people on the beach think you're so good at keeping your little secrets, don't you? Or maybe you think I'm just too dumb to figure things out."

"No one thinks you're dumb, Adam," countered Olivia.

_Yes we do,_ Richard thought. He rubbed his brow with the tips of his index finger and thumb. "There are reasons for everything we've done."

"Which are?"

"To protect you." This came through clenched teeth, his tone revealing more frustration than Richard cared to hear coming from himself. But his nerves were shot. The corner of his eye caught the wound on Olivia's forehead and his fingertips began to tingle.

"Adam, he's telling the truth." Olivia took over, still fighting against the better part of her emotions. She swallowed hard against the lump everyone could hear forming in her throat. "Just... come back to the beach with us."

"Absolutely not."

"Why?"

"Because I don't trust anyone there."

"What about me?" she asked. "Have I given you a reason why you can't trust me? What did I do?"

Another step down the hill, and Adam was almost nose-to-nose with her. He bent at the waist to close the distance. "You should have come with me when I asked."

"That's not fair, Adam."

"You're right. I shouldn't have even had to ask."

A surge of indignation flashed across Olivia's face like a crack of lightening. "I should have just come?"

His self-control striking a wall, Richard stepped between them. Or attempted to. Adam's hand was upon him in an instant, trusting him aside with such force that it sent Richard's mind reeling along with his body. It had felt, for lack of a clearer thought process, like a ton bricks. As he hit the ground, he could hear Kate bark a warning "HEY!"; and when his vision cleared a second later, she was reminding everyone about the gun hitched on her belt.

Adam backed away coolly as Richard pushed himself to his feet. His lifted his hands to indicate his brief surrender and dropped them to his hips. "Convince me, then. Go ahead. Give me one good reason and I'll go back with you." He paused and waited and waved his index finger in the air. "Just one."

"Adam, you don't know what you're getting mixed up in." Kate stepped forward, giving Richard a quick look to make sure he was uninjured. Olivia was already on that herself, taking him by the arm. Richard backed away from her touch, nursing his pride. His thoughts were still swimming.

"I said one reason."

"Because Ben Linus is responsible for the deaths of more people on this island than you could possibly imagine."

Adam hardly batted an eye. "Oh, come on." He looked to Richard. "I'm sure he must have had a little help."

The statement lingered in the air. Or maybe that was the breath that felt like it was being sucked from Richard's lungs. "Excuse me?"

Olivia stepped sideways, tripping a little on a rock as she moved closer to Kate. Richard's world swirled for a moment, like a snake wrapping around his body. A crack of thunder snapped overhead.

Adam shook his head, turning his back on them. "You three need to start for the beach if you want to make it before dark."

"Adam, I'm coming with you."

At once, the carousel Richard had unwittingly mounted came to a grinding halt. Before Olivia could touch the bottom the hill, he had her by the back of the shirt. She squirmed, as Adam hissed over his shoulder. "You had your chance."

"You don't know what you're doing, Adam" Richard shouted.

"You know..." As Adam began to turn once more, his voice took a momentary pause. From his backpack, he suddenly produced a dark shotgun. The three at the base of the hill took a dramatic step back. Against Richard's palm, Olivia's back arched in a silent scream. "I'm getting so sick of people telling me that."

He jiggled the gun from side to side, his grip communicating that he knew exactly how to use it. He lingered longest on Kate. It was a warning that needed no words. She lifted her hands into the air.

"I know this is a hard decision, so I'm going to make it as easy as possible." He was bearing teeth. "Turn around and head back to the beach. If no one follows me, no one gets shot."

Olivia began to shiver. Richard pulled her closer to his chest. Taking a step back, he pulled her in again. It was the beginning of their march of defeat, of their heavy retreat. Kate, holding her hands above her head, followed in suit. Without another word, Adam backed up the hill, the gun pointed and ready until he vanished into the trees. For a few minutes, everything was utterly, utterly silent. Around them, the sounds of thunder began to creep in. No one was sure how long it had been raining.

* * *

**Please review!**


	14. Gathering Dark

_Author's Note: Funny story. I had actually written 98% what will now be **Chapter 15 **before I realized I needed to elaborate on some other things first, hence this chapter right here. Lots of Ben in this, which I know some people will really like. :)_

_As always, make sure to drop me a line, aka **review**, if you want to make sure I keep going. I know that reviews don't have much to do with whether or not a story is good or even being read, but I love getting feedback. I really hope everyone leaves me at least a brief comment._

* * *

**Chapter 14**

_Gathering Dark_

Most of his adult life, Ben Linus had spent living in tents and cooking over a wood fire: out of doors, no pilot lights or gas ranges; and the last few years in the comfort of the barracks' kitchens had not spoiled him as much as the superabundance of ingredients. Under those ameliorative, if temporary, circumstances, cooking had become his special escape from the day-to-day, an avenue on which to park his burdens. And he had become quite good at it. Perhaps in another life, Ben might have become a chef. In another, very _surreal _life.

As it was, he had been relegated back to fire pits and squab, to open air and the mercy of the weather. It was not an entirely uncomfortable existence, at least not an unpracticed one. The clearing he had been occupying for several weeks looked more like a human habitat, now. There was a lean-to made of logs and palm branches, as well as a hammock that had already seen better days in its previous lifetime. On a few occasions, he had made trips to the barracks for supplies and now little organized piles of tools and Dharma cookies dotted the homestead.

All in all, Ben Linus was quite satisfied with the little existence he had carved out for himself. As pleased as he capable of being with anything, at any rate.

As the scene was set, it was dusk, and the light had a sort of pinkish color to it. The severe afternoon humidity had abated tremendously, on account of the excessive afternoon rain, which was also the reason why his dinner was so late in the day. Ben was sitting on a log, beside a pile of smoldering wooden embers, eating pigeon off a glass plate, with a metal fork-both marked with Dharma stamps. And directly opposite him on the far end of the clearing stood a man who looked exactly like John Locke.

"How was work today?" Ben asked. "I've got dinner ready." Of course, he had not made enough for two. This was a somewhat unexpected visit.

Locke stepped into the clearing, looking slightly the worse for the wear. A little dirty around the edges, sweat stained and muddy. He paid Ben's needling comment no mind as he took a seat on the ground. "Nice place you've got here." He gestured to the lean-to and the hammock with something close to sincerity.

"Yes, well, I'm thinking about hanging some curtains in the bay window, but it's not a bad start." Ben tapped his fork against the side of his plate. "You're back sooner than expected."

"Yes, well I suppose I have you to thank for that. Excellent work with Adam. You really have a talent for..." He gave the air a fluid swoop with his hand, cutting a line that took a sudden turn. "Misdirection."

Ben grunted and turned his attention back to his dinner. Overhead, a bird cried, "Urlee...!" and rustled in the branches. Locke was quiet. It took Ben a moment to realize he was waiting for him, and it look him a moment longer to decide if he cared. "Then I guess your little project is well underway."

Locke's immediate reply was a dull glare. "Yes, Ben it's well underway." He rolled his shoulders back and turned aside, focusing his gaze on a distant point. With a sigh, his eyelids fell for a few seconds.

Ben, meanwhile, chased an elusive piece of mango with his fork, the metal percussively striking the plate with a _ting ting ting. _"Any word from our _old_ friend?" he asked, his voice coated with a syrupy, dispassionate glaze, much like the fruity sauce on the plate.

"Just came from talking with him."

At this, Ben lifted an eyebrow. "Really?" There was food in his mouth, which he swallowed with a gulp. "That was fast."

"Not sure why you're always so shocked, Ben." Locke, who up till now had been wearing a backpack, began to slide the straps off his shoulders. "How long did you think it would take? It's not like our friends on the beach have anything else to do but sit around and wait for something to happen-something they can overreact about."

"You've sort of conditioned them that way, haven't you?" Ben returned.

Half-way finished removing his pack, Locke paused, one arm dangling awkwardly while he frowned. "Ben, I'm going to be frank with you and I expect you to be frank with me. It appears you've had a change of heart."

Like the snap of a whip, Ben lifted his face from his plate. His mouth was still dry, and so a second passed before he began to speak. "I'm just a little confused, J-" No, not John. "If you want me to be frank with you, you're going to have to be forthright with me." By now, he'd reclaimed his voice, which had become weighty to the point of lowering its pitch. "And you can start by explaining why you felt it was necessary to kill Adam."

The words cut jagged flights through the air, like bats, as the sky began its transition from pink to a deeper red. The _Hurley Bird_ overhead, hidden in the trees, continued its regular squawking. _Urlee! Urlee! _It was beginning to sound like a plea, frenetic and delirious, like an orphan in the dead of night, shaking off a nightmare and crying to anyone within earshot.

The man who looked like John Locke rose to his feet, turning his back and raising his hands to his hips. Even with his black shirt, it was plain to see the mantel of sweat across his shoulders. It must have been _on foot_ for some time, as opposed to _other_ modes of transportation. Ben held his stare, boring holes into Locke's shoulder blades until he turned back. His face bore an unexpected grin, and Ben's stare faltered.

With an uneven gate, Locke began to circle the fire pit, coming to a stop just before Ben. "It became necessary. Mind if I ask how you figured it-?"

"I figured it out when I followed a trail of blood to the Dharma grave, this afternoon." Ben clenched his jaw. "That kid was no threat."

Locke started up is pace once again, passing him. "Perhaps I spoke too soon, Ben. Maybe you've lost your touch."

This was no insult. Ben was hardly moved to even roll his eyes.

"Twenty-four hours," he began, his voice no more than a murmur. He was done with dinner. Leaning forward, Ben scraped the contents of his plate into what remained of the fire. It sizzled and popped and the smell of char quickly found its way into his nostrils. There was more food left than he liked to waste, but he had thoroughly lost his appetite. "It was around this time yesterday that come came to me with your little proposition. Twenty-four hours is a long time to think."

Locke scowled in the manner that John Locke had always scowled. The eyes were the same, gray and clear, the same right down to the scar. And yet, they were not John Locke's eyes. "Unfortunately, there's no turning back the clock," he said in John Locke's voice. "I'm surprised at you, Ben. You've never been one to back out of a deal."

"It gets a little more complicated when you've made a deal with the devil." Ben stood, plate and fork in hand, and began to move in the direction of the lean-to, where he could secretly release a sigh. Whatever Locke's reaction, he did not care to see it. "But I haven't said I'm backing out."

In the corner of the shelter was a bin, the exact sort dishwashers use in a restaurant, made of thick gray plastic. There, Ben laid his dirty flat- and silverware, to be cleaned later. His movements were slow and precise.

"Twenty-four hours," Ben repeated, "Is a long time to think and what I've realized is that your plan has a fatal flaw."

"Which is?" Locke cocked a scarred eyebrow, arms lifting with an increasingly exasperated shrug.

"That it won't work."

By now, the sky had gone from burnt orange to purple. A few scattered fireflies had made their silent entrance into the clearing, along with their more raucous but less visible nocturnal insect companions. Locke swatted at something Ben could not see and adjusted his weight to one hip. "And why not, Ben?"

"Because Richard Alpert is not the sort of man you take him for."

Locke remained unmoved. "Then who is he?"

Ben began to walk forward, his head low as he considered his words carefully. "Let me begin by asking you something. Do you think _I_ would fall for a trap like this?

The was no answer, but Locke's clear eyes were rapidly becoming a stormy sky, his heavy brow line casting black shadows that extended to the edges of his cheekbones. Ben held his stare.

"Richard Alpert and I have more in common than anyone's ever been willing to admit."

"Ah." Locke's face brightened, his finger suddenly pointing at Ben like a gun. "That's just it, Ben. That's where you're wrong. It's _because _you're alike that this _will_ work."

Ben felt his chest tighten. His face betrayed nothing.

"You see," Locke went on. "Richard Alpert hates himself. Can't look at himself in the mirror. And you're the reason why."

"I think he-"

But the Man in Black was not to be interrupted. "Because he knows that he's agreed with you more often than he's disagreed, that he's done what needed to get _done_, just like you always have."

Step-by-step, line-by-line, Locke had moved toward him, filling in the gaps as Ben backed away. His heart felt as though it was skipping beats. The edges of his vision failed him. The absence of all color began to trickle into the sky, like ink into water. Black clouds were gathering.

But no, it was not the sky that was changing!

Puffs of black ash fell like dust from John Locke's shoulders. A sound like an enormous cricket chattering began to ring in Ben's ears. There were sparks of light and the smell of brunt meat, and suddenly it was not John Locke standing before him, but a man with silver hair and narrow eyes. Even his clothing had taken on a different appearance, transforming into something crudely woven, and fastened with a rope belt. This was no one he had ever seen before, and yet, it was as if nothing had changed, and Ben realized that he was still cowering before the same person.

"You're so surprised by everything these days, aren't you, Ben?" he asked, his voice now an octave lower. "Surprised by things you should be used to by now."

Ben gulped.

"But where was I? Oh, that's right. Richard. You know what it feels like to be haunted, don't you?"

And then he was no longer the man in the black tunic. His form shrunk as layers fell aside. Billows of black smoke dissipated into the air. What remained... was Alex. Her eyes shot like two arrows into the depths of his soul, and Ben felt his arms tingle for his daughter's embrace, even though he knew it was only an illusion.

"Don't you, daddy?"

"That's enough!" Ben exclaimed. With a taunting smile, the figure changed, shooting up before his eyes, growing until he stood a foot over Ben's head. Now, it was Adam he saw, but most assuredly not the simple farm boy. The keen light behind his steady gaze the indication that something foul was afoot.

"What you're forgetting," he continued, a few wisps of black smoke fading around his face like a demonic halo. "Is that _one_ little difference between the two of you. The reason why Richard will fail where you would have escaped unharmed."

Ben found he had lost the ability to speak. He choked and quivered like a child before a wrathful father.

Adam smiled. "Richard's a good man."

With that, the Man in Black turned and paced in the opposite direction. Another swirl of smoke, and the edges of his body began to disintegrate all over again, losing height and form. In only a few steps, John Locke had returned to the clearing; although Ben was not completely convinced he was still in the clearing himself, so far had his grasp on reality been thrown. Like a dog ordered to fetch.

He had always known, to some degree, of what the _Monster_ was capable: these different forms, these ghosts brought back to life. He had been present for multiple violent outbursts, many at his own beckoning. He had seen the sky turn black, and had watched in silently in both awe and passivity as men were ripped limb-by-limb before his very eyes. But to witness one man become another, to see his daughter's face melt inches from his face: for that no preparation was possible; and Ben had been reduced to a nauseous heap of unresponsive tissue. Even his skin had gone cold.

Locke looked over his shoulder, not at Ben, but in his general direction. "Sorry if I spooked you." Whether he was sincere or not was indiscernible.

"B-B-But why her?" Ben sputtered.

"Who? Olivia?"

"John... " No, not John. But what else was there to call him? Ben swallowed hard against the rising bile in his throat. "I've known Richard for almost forty years, and in all that time, not once has he even _considered-_-"

"I guess his standards are just that high." He had not exactly cut Ben off, just burst in during a breath.

"He's still in love with his wife." Ben gulped, as his voice finally began to clear. "And while I haven't met Olivia, but I'd be very surprised if-"

Now Locke did cut him off. "Trust me, she's the right girl for the job."

Ben hesitated. "Did you actually bring her here?"

There was, for argument's sake, no reply. Locke lowered himself back to the ground and unzipped the backpack he had discarded.

"Did you bring her here?" Ben repeated.

Locke lifted his head, offering little more than an annoyed scowl. "It doesn't matter if I brought her here. What matters is how I use her now that she is here."

Ben shook his head. By now, his breath was coming evenly, his heart pumping at a regular rate. He was himself once more. Or at least close enough to pass. It was somewhat comforting to look at Locke in his incongruous black shirt, as he rummaged through his back pack, and feel that old, familiar repugnance. In the end, he had to turn away.

"So that's it, that's really your plan?" said Ben, as he abruptly turned back and rushed forward. "Richard falls in love with this woman and somehow it ultimately leads to his self-destruction?"

"It doesn't sound like the most creative plan, I know, but damnit if it doesn't work on a surprising number of people." Locke's arm was visible only down to the wrist. From within the pack came dull thuds and metallic rattles, all of them invisible. He squinted up at him with John Locke's eyes and smiled self-assuredly.

Ben ignored it. "It's not going to work."

"It's working already."

The number of fireflies had tripled in the area. Ben swatted one away from his face and snorted. "So then I guess I can safely assume that you fully intended on killing Adam from the beginning, seeing as how important it will be to keep him in your ever increasing arsenal."

Locke shrugged and looked away. "You can harp on that all you want, Ben, but like you said, this little project is well underway. In fact, you've had the honor of knocking over the first domino and now you get to sit back and watch the show. Or do whatever the hell you want, I couldn't care less."

Before he finished, Ben had turned on his heels and crossed the clearing to the lean-to, forcing Locke to raise his voice. By now, the light in the clearing was growing dim, and it would be some time yet before the moon appeared above the trees. In the shelter was a torch and a lighter and Ben made quick use of them. When he faced Locke again, by the light of the torch, not only could he see that had he risen to his feet, but in his outstretched hand was some sort of object. He approached, slinging his arms through the straps of the backpack as he walked. He came more fully into the light and Ben could see that the thing in Locke's hand was a gun-a small shotgun, in actuality, with a Dharma logo.

Ben's mouth went dry for the third time that night. Locke spun the gun around his index finger with an unecessary flourish and extended it, butt first. Ben lifted his eyes slowly.

Locke was smiling. "Thanks for letting me borrow this, by the way."

* * *

**_Be sure to review!_**


	15. Shadows and Shapes

Maybe you've been wondering where I've been. Nowhere special. Hopefully some of you are still there, reading. If you are, I hope you'll comment. I've actually been spending time going through previous chapters and editing them. More like proofreading, really. Nothing anyone needs to go back for. Just to appease my own OCD.

Where did we leave off? _Kate, Richard and Olivia found Adam in the jungle, only it turned out not to be Adam, as Ben and the MIB revealed... _

* * *

**Chapter Fifteen**

Shadows and Shapes

She might have appeared to be meditating, were it not for the empty, glassy stare. It was closer to a trance. Her legs were crossed "Indian-style", boots still on, which was uncomfortable. Absentmindedly, Olivia dipped her hand into the cool evening sand and pulled up a fistful. It trickled through her knuckles, like an hour-glass losing time. The sun had already disappeared beneath the horizon. In the corner of her eye, a fire flickered, and the smell of charred fish was in the air.

The crashing waves added a hypnotic sort of music: an ostinato that grounded her, something familiar to fence in her mind and keep her from drifting out to sea, as it were. Rhythmically, it matched the shallow rise and fall of her chest. Funny to think that something so simple as a hiss could reassure her that she was still alive, so distant seemed all else. As her eyes crossed from lack of blinking, and the shapes of things before her blended together with fuzzy lines, she felt as though she might fall backwards in time, back to when everything had been as it was _before_: before she stopped needing glasses... before the hot air balloon... before the vacation in New Zealand... before the inheritance and her grandmother's death... before...

"Olivia?"

Her eyelids fluttered as she craned her neck, meeting Kate's face, backlit by the fire. In her hand was a banana leaf, or _plate_, cradling a piece of fish. Olivia rubbed her dry eyes, and they burned under the pressure of her fingertips.

"How are you holding up?" Kate asked, as she lowered herself to the sand and held out the banana leaf.

Olivia took it and placed it in her lap, more to be polite than to eat. Her appetite seemed miles behind her. "Did you ever hear," she began, transitioning slowly from a dreamy to a more present tone, "About twins having special connections? Where one can feel what the other one is feeling?"

Kate nodded. "Yeah, I've heard that."

"I just feel numb. And I don't know what that means."

Kate didn't reply, instead stealing a moment to glance over her shoulder. There had been a spike in the chatter by the bonfire. That she was anxiously awaiting Jack and Saywer's return was obvious; in this she was not alone. The tension in the camp was palpable. Every rustle in the jungle seemed to slice through like a machete. But there had been no indication of their return for hours.

Olivia shook her head. Maybe there had always been signs that something was amiss with Adam, and she ought to have expected this breakdown. In only a few weeks, the image of her brother had gone from clear to muddled, but the possibility that it was the other way around crept up her spine like a preying insect, it's sticky feet pinching her skin with every step.

Bur pointing a gun in her face had really been too much. Her mind still felt like it was doing summersaults. Staring down that barrel had been like looking into a hole in his heart.

"You think you know someone. I lived with him my entire life, and I had no idea he was capable of that."

"It's not over, yet," Kate tried to reassure her.

"I know," Olivia conceded, "But that's just it. What happens next? We've never been apart. I've never been alone like this before." Her hands had been cold as ice for hours. She brushed back her hair a few times and grimaced. "Adam used to look out for me."

Reactively, the muscles in her forehead twinged, the pain radiating outward. Olivia pressed against the tension with her fingers and massaged it until it dissipated, slowly. Her hand continued to tremble until it was back in her lap, where it went limp again.

"He always knew what to do..."

She looked down at the banana leaf and fish balancing upon her thigh. Adam's ghostly voice reverberated in the recesses of her skull. *_I know this is a hard decision, so I'm going to make it as easy as possible...*_ The keen light in his eyes felt like coals being pressed into Olivia's heart, the gun in his hand the poker. *_If no one follows me, no one gets shot...*_

"He was really good at _telling _me what to do."

With a final pinch, the proverbial insect on the back of her neck leapt off. It was replaced by Kate's hand, as she made gentle circles across her back. Olivia felt like crying.

"And things haven't gone so well for the two of you since you stopped listening." Kate's voice was low and knowing.

Olivia shrugged. "I've spent my whole life not doing things, because someone told me it was wrong, or dangerous... or like a sin, you know?" The tears still had not come, but her chest felt heavy and her eyes were burning. "And Adam always seemed to have a better idea of what was going on, so I just assumed he was right about things and I was nieve, or sometimes just _bad_."

"No, sweetie, no." Kate gripped her shoulder, giving it a gentle shake.

"No, it's my fault. I took the easy way out. I could have stoped them. But _here_? Here, I thought I could start over." Olivia lowered her voice, "But your problems follow you."

"They have a way of doing that."

Olivia ran the back of her hand across her eyes, picking up a few stray tears that had not yet fallen. The water glistened on her skin, catching the yellowish color of the fire. It kind of glittered.

"Kate, can I... confess something?"

Like a good mother, there was no hesitation in her voice. "Of course."

"It's just something I want to get off my chest..."

The sounds of the ocean began to fade away like someone turning was down the volume. They were replaced by a rush of wind. Olivia looked from her friend's face to the shore, from the sand to the tops of her knees. In reality, nothing was changing. The water broke evenly and its music filled the air, but Olivia couldn't deny the sensation of falling backward, of some part of her slowly drifting away from everything concrete. Kate's gaze was full of patience, but Olivia already knew she would keep her waiting a while longer...

* * *

**...Flashback...**

* * *

It had been a long walk. Very long. So long that her feet felt as though they had swelled to the exact dimensions of her boots: the soles pulsating and her Achilles tendon seemingly ready to snap. Sweat trickled down the back of her neck, through the collar of her shirt, and down the length of her spine. Her skin itself seemed to be giving off steam, her blouse discolored in the usual places from the moist heat. Olivia climbed the wooden steps haltingly as she entered the shade of the back porch. The dull thud of each step was quickly suffocated by the oppressive air, like everything was covered in damp rags.

Idaho in late-July. The corn was waist high. There wasn't a cloud above bigger than a wisp and the sky itself was a beautiful cerulean hue.

Olivia could not recall more disagreeable weather.

The path to the back of the farmhouse was freshly swept. The screen door was shut, but the wooden one behind it was slightly ajar. Olivia placed her hand on the rusted handle, brittle like ancient bone, and listened for a moment. She could hear sounds in the kitchen, someone was washing dishes. Not just anyone, she knew: only her grandmother could do such a naturally percussive job with such an unnatural, deft touch, almost silently. She could picture the lucid flow of hands and plates and water, as if there was someone sleeping in the house she dare not wake. Or more like she was a finely tuned robot, able to do twice the work with half the effort.

There was no time to kill, no real purpose in moving slowly, but still Olivia waited. Their eventual meeting was inevitable. But had she already been heard, she wondered. The water continued to run. Perhaps there was still a chance to escape for the rest of the afternoon, or maybe the rest of her life. If she could back away quietly...

"Olivia?"

The wooden door swung open like an unfurled wing before her, revealing the grainy apparition of her grandmother behind the screen door. She was all gray behind the metallic mesh. Pixilated.

"Where have you been?" she asked, her eyes already scanning for clues.

Olivia could not answer. Her heart had burrowed up into her throat.

Grandmother pushed open the screen door, allowing less than a second for the body on the other side to clear the way. Her order to march forward was little more than a flick of her gaze, like the snap of a whip. Olivia, of course, obeyed. The old metal door crashed behind her and rattled on its hinges.

"I hope you weren't at to Heather Smyth's funeral." Grandmother looked her up and down, eyes lingering on Olivia's filthy boots, until she began untying them.

"I'm sorry, but I was."

Grandmother pursed her lips and flared her narrow nostrils. "Well, I hope no one saw you."

"Don't worry."

"I'm always worrying about _you_." She turned her back and crossed the room. Her faded denim pants and gray blouse gave her a cloud-like appearance, albeit a storm cloud. Were it not for the squeak of her Keds on the laminate tile, Olivia might have said she was hovering. "I don't want to hear about it at church on Sunday. It's bad enough people talk about that hussy like she's one of God's angels. I hate to say a mean word, but I will if I have to. Girls like _that _don't go to heaven."

Her hands disappeared beneath the sudsy water with a faint slosh, almost inaudible. Olivia watched as a plate was plucked with care, like a dainty from a serving tray, and Grandmother began to make circles with a sponge. A few seconds passed and Olivia eyed the hallway and the staircase beyond. Was the house empty, she wondered; was Adam around?

"Why don't you sit down?" Grandmother asked, though it was anything but a question. Without reply, Olivia obeyed. She pulled out a wooden chair from its station at the table and lowered herself slowly, her hands folding across her lap. Grandmother continued her lesson. "She was in the wrong place at the wrong time. I want you to realize that's what happens when you don't have the Lord's protection on you: you end up in the wrong place at the wrong time. That horrible party. Olivia, you always make sure to pray for a prepared death. You pray for that more than any thing else. You don't want to end up damned for something that seems small, like entertaining a sexual thought and not having time to atone. More people go to hell for sins of the flesh than any other."

Olivia felt fresh blood flush her cheeks and fill the folds of her ears. "Grandmom, you know I was at that party, too."

Every inch of that final image was clear as a photograph tacked in her memory with a pushpin. It was something tangible Olivia could take in her hands, which were now trembling. The headlights, encircling Heather like a spotlight. The gray trees amidst the pitch black of midnight. That final, terrified shriek.

"Like I said, you can't expect to go to parties like that and assume you're going to be protected from such things. I'm certain my prayers were the only thing that spared you." She had finished washing one plate and set to drying it with a rag. She signed. "I know you went to that party, but you told me you left, because there was alcohol and lewd behavior. So a good deed cancels out a sin. Don't forget the Lord rewards those who stand up for his Commandments."

Olivia dropped her head into her hand, leaning against the table to keep from falling over as the kitchen reeled around her. There were a muffled sounds from the floor above, moving from one end of the room to the other. A second later, Adam appeared at the top of the stairs, leaning over the railing to peer into the kitchen. With her other hand, Olivia pulled off her glasses and pinched the bridge of her nose. "Some reward," she muttered.

Grandmother gently slipped the final plate into the dish strainer. She picked up a rag and began drying her hands, balling it up like she was working on a piece of dough. "Heather Smyth's unfortunate time had come. And the Lord used you, in the midst of the good deed you were doing, to make it so."

Olivia pushed herself upward until her spine was straight against the chair. "What kind of god would do that?"

"Now that discussion is one we are not having again."

"Grandmom, I'm just trying to make some sort of sense out of this. I hit a girl with my car. I don't understand how you can rationalize that it was some sort of divine intervention."

"If you want to argue with God, you're going to lose." She slapped the dish rag on the countertop. A sigh followed. "There's too much of your mother in you."

The back of Olivia's neck had begun to pulsate and the edges of her vision were fading into black, encircling the hazy image of her grandmother like a dark halo. Tears began to fall into her mouth as she spoke. "Do you understand what I'm going through? Can you please, just for a second, think about how I feel? I just watched them bury a girl I've known since I was five years old. And I couldn't even go to the funeral because it's my fault she's dead."

"It's not your fault, Olivia." But this had not come from her grandmother. In the narrows of the hallway, Adam's form was blocking out the light from the windows beyond. He settled in the archway to the kitchen, folding his arms, his imposing shape filling in all the cracks. Without her glasses, he was a jean-colored blob beneath a red colored blob, with a fleshy circle for a head. Still, she would know those shapes anywhere.

"But at the hospital you told me it was," Olivia replied, running her fist across the bottom of her nose. "It has to be someone's fault, remember?"

Adam shrugged. "I didn't know all the circumstances."

"Why can you never accept what I tell you?" Grandmother inserted.

Olivia picked up her glasses and began cleaning the lenses with the hem of her shirt. She cleaned them and cleaned them with no sign of putting them back on. "I need to take responsibility for this, or I'm going to go crazy."

Grandmother's teeth clicked. Olivia had no concept of the face she was making, but she could hear her grandmother's jaw like a cricket in the room. The fuzzy edges of Adam's body seemed to grow in the doorframe.

"What you're going though has to do with the state of your spiritual life," Grandmother finally said.

"W-What?" Olivia asked.

"You don't pray enough, Olivia. I know you don't read your bible. You can hardly focus at church."

The tears clinging to her eyelashes served as a tiny lenses, sharpening pinpoints of light in her field of vision and further obscuring others. She squeezed her eyes shut and the tears adhered themselves to her cheekbones. "You're just saying that because I don't agree with you."

"Grandmom's right, Olivia," added Adam. For a split second, his face came into focus, as a pain behind her eye throbbed. "If you didn't fight us all the time, if you listened to us, you would have known better than to go to that party. None of this would have happened."

"Which isn't to say Heather Smyth wouldn't have gotten what she deserved..." Grandmother muttered. "Just it might not have been with you involved."

What it felt like was that all the air had been sucked from the room, that it had even been drained from her lungs. Olivia gulped at the atmosphere like a fish in water, the tears pouring down her cheeks and collecting at her chin, as her head caved into her chest. Her entire body seemed to be disintegrating, the chair she sat upon along with it. The sounds in her ears were both intense and muffled, like a terrific gust of wind.

"I'm sorry," she cried. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry..."

* * *

**...The Present...**

* * *

"Olivia?"

The sound of the waves returning was so tremendous that Olivia felt for a moment that one was crashing upon her. Her balance faltered and she thrust a hand into the sand for support. It was cool to the touch. Her heart was pounding, but the soothing sensation of the grains ran up her arm and into her neck. Slowly, the tension dissipated. Everything was at it had been, only a few seconds had passed, and Kate was still waiting for her confession. Waiting with a sly smile.

"Confess something... about Richard?" she asked. With a tilt of her head, Kate pointed out a figure by the fire. Richard's silhouette stood in conversation with Hurley's, but they were too far away to catch more than a few broad gestures.

Such different shapes, Olivia thought, before turning away: Hurley like a coconut and Richard like a tree. She focused on the row of sand between her and Kate, and dug her fingers in a little deeper. "There's nothing to say about that."

"Nothing?"

"Well, obviously there was _something_, but it didn't turn into anything." Moving the _plate _of fish from her lap to the sand, she scooted backward until her back grazed the flora. "He said he didn't think it was a good idea. Actually, he told me to stay away from him, so... nothing."

Kate pulled in a long, unsatisfying sigh, and finished it off with a shake of her head. She rested her cheek upon her fist. "I'd like to say that Richard's hard to get to know, but it's more like he's _unknowable_."

Olivia lifted an eyebrow and nodded, impressed by Kate's compact but thoroughly complete description.

"But he's had a different experience than the rest of us," Kate continued.

"I know he wasn't on the plane."

"No one knows the whole story. Except Richard."

From the corner of her eye, Olivia caught the shadows by the bonfire part ways, one moving further away and the other closer. Richard marched, slowly, in the direction of his tent. Soon he would cross their general area, but too far away to make any sort of contact. Thought lately it seemed their only communication was brief glances and a few odd words, like acquaintances passing one another on the busy street. Today had been different, yes, but they had been forced together. It had not been Richard's decision to travel with her and Kate. Given the chance, Olivia assumed it probably would have been much different.

She winced. As though something had stung her.

"Tall, dark, and mysterious comes with a price..." Kate's words faded as Richard crossed in front of them, still a good way off, just as expected. Olivia thought she caught a slight turn of his head in their direction, something telling the crucifix bouncing against his neck, though it was little more than a speck of light.

"Do you mind if I if I asked was, exactly?" Kate asked. "You admitted there was something."

Olivia waited for a little time to pass, time enough for Richard to move beyond the reach of the firelight and wrap himself in shadow. He was gone. A few seconds later, the interior of his tent began to glow from the lantern upon his desk: just enough light to get a general idea of his movements within the canvas walls.

Leaning to the side, shortening the space between them, Olivia lowered her voice to a whisper. "Do you remember when I landed here, when Jack _healed_ my eyes? Accidentally." She gave Kate the time to nod and continued, "Everyone thought it was this wonderful thing. People didn't even know who I was, but they were coming up to me and asking about it. They asked about it as much as they asked about the hot air balloon. Even Adam thought it was amazing. I think it was the closest he came to liking Jack."

They broke the slightest bit, passing a laugh back and forth between them. Olivia's smile faded first.

"But it really upset me. I didn't know what as going on. I didn't want a miracle."

Kate knitted her brow. "Because you didn't think you deserved it?"

"Because it messed up my world view. Spiritual things. I mean, it _really_ upset me, but I couldn't say that because no one would have understood. You don't say that you wish you _hadn't _been healed. But Richard... I remember talking to him by the water over there, and he told me he was sorry about what had happened. He just knew. He knew exactly what I was thinking."

The slight lines in Kate's forehead softened. She straightened her spine, nodding as Olivia's story began to sink in, and then again once it finally had.

"I mean," Olivia went on, "You don't just ignore something like that. I least, I can't." Picking up a twig from beneath the sand, Olivia snapped in in half. "And there have been other things since then. At the very least, I thought we might be friends."

Kate nodded again, but this time it came with a little sigh. "I'm not sure Richard knows how to make friends."

"He seems to have a lot of enemies." These words leapt from Olivia tongue, rather than were merely said. She felt her throat tighten reflexively as she turned to Kate, already beginning to regret what was already done and hoping her expression was apologetic. When she continued, it was in a locomotive fashion, haltingly at first, gaining speed slowly. "I've put some of it together myself. He was here already when the plane crashed. He worked for Ben Linus. And since everyone talks about Ben like he's some kind of evil mastermind, I can only assume the association isn't a good thing."

She felt sick to her stomach as she watched Kate's composure falter, her irises twitching as her hand reached for any hair she might tuck behind her ear. If words could be taken back like fireflies collected, Olivia would already be on her feet and after them with a jar. Her lips parted as she searched for the right way to cancel everything she had said. But her mouth was dry, and Kate had already begun speaking.

"I don't think Ben is evil. I know we've given you that impression, but it's not that simple. He's dangerous, but part of what makes him so dangerous is that he's convinced he's doing the right thing," she said. "But I'm not answering your question, am I? Unfortunately, I'm not the right person to ask. Some people know more about Richard, whatever there is to know. I probably know the least."

In the distance, a wave sizzled on the shore. Olivia's gaze moved to the reflection of the moon on the water.

Kate dropped a hand on her shoulder. "But I do think Richard's good. And, clearly, he and Ben have parted ways."

Olivia nodded and shrugged at the same time, the latter seeming to cancel out the former. Finally, she shook her head. "I'm not even sure why I'm asking."

Kate's hand loosened as she patted the top of Olivia's arm. "It makes things a little easier, knowing someone cares about you..."

Again, the sound of her voice faded, overtaken immediately by the crash of a wave and then, slowly, by the trickle of other voices. Olivia felt her heart skip a beat before the rest of her body reacted, before she was even cognizant of her head turning in the direction of the fire. Kate was already on her feet, Olivia a mere second behind.

Jack and Sawyer had returned.


	16. Blackout

**Chapter 16**

Blackout

Jack and Sawyer had returned.

Their dark silhouettes grew yellowish features as Olivia and Kate's feet pounded the sand. Jack cut an angular shape, arms lifted akimbo, as he prepared to hold forth. Sawyer's pose was more of a curve as he lingered behind. The crowd around them gathered quickly. In the midst of the dark bodies, Hurley stood out, his round shape unlike any other. Olivia could even hear his voice above the low chatter, though it was all more like music notes than words, even if the whole scene was a little like someone banging percussively on a piano.

As they entered the circle, Jack turned to them straight away. His arms seemed locked into place as he swiveled on his hips, from Hurley to Kate, then to Olivia. The movements themselves seemed stop-and-go and Jack more tense than he maybe ought to have been, though Olivia did not think she had been expecting any specific sort of entrance.

"Hurley says you found Adam."

Kate nodded, not wasting time to catch her breath, which chopped her phrasing into short bursts. "More like he found us. At the base of the mountains."

Jack's head bobbed tightly on his neck. He pulled in a sniff of the air and looked over his shoulder to Sawyer, who stepped into the firelight with a cocked eyebrow. Olivia looked him over more thoroughly and felt her eyebrow lift in suit. He caught her gaze and held it, the firelight reflecting in his eyes.

"We were about to turn back," Kate continued, taking short breaths now and again. "I thought we were on the wrong trail, but he must have realized he was being followed. There was a standoff."

"Meaning?"

"Meaning he pulled a gun on us," replied a voice from behind. Olivia turned in time to catch Richard drifting into a space beside her. "Suffice to say, we weren't able to talk him into coming back with us."

Her spine stiffened, her vision blurring as she tried to look more at the general area his body occupied, rather than at Richard himself. A second or two passed before she shot a direct glance across her shoulder, her pink cotton blouse so faded it was arguably now a shade of white, and the collar of his blue shirt came into focus. The thick lines of his lashes were low, and they flickered in the same manner as the fire. It was nothing more than a brief peek for either of them: the acknowledgement that they were standing beside one another and that Jack now had the opportunity to address them at the same time.

"He had a gun?

"He seems to be a man with a plan," said Richard.

Sawyer took another step closer. "Don't sound like Adam."

Jack had turned back to Kate, who stood a few persons over. "Around what time?"

"Late afternoon. Four o'clock, maybe five," she answered, and Jack's eyebrows flared.

"How far did you go before you decided to turn back?" Olivia interjected.

At this, both Jack's and Sawyer's expressions drew a momentary blank. When Jack spoke, it began with a little cough, like he needed to clear his throat. "So you weren't far from The Black Rock?"

"No, not far."

Still, the puzzled expression on Jack's face failed to resolve itself. It was clear to see his mind was hard at work, making calculations, and the fact that Olivia's question had been ignored did not bother her. Quickly, it was forgotten. Or perhaps erased was a better word. Her thoughts were dwindling to a faint hum, like someone turning down the volume on her brain. The length of Jack and Sawyer's trail had been reduced to an unfortunate happenstance, and most of these points of interest would have been completely lost on her whatever the situation.

"You didn't cross the river?" he asked and Kate shook her head. "So he was going east?"

The questioning and answering continued. Sawyer walked a little ways to the side, out of the circle: his head low, his shoulders high. The hand Olivia could see twitched beside his hip and she narrowed her eyes almost involuntarily, watching his index finger bounce like it was on the trigger of a gun. Jack and Kate shared a few more apparently significant terms to which Olivia could attach no meaning: an old radio tower, someone named Rousseau, a swan...

One by one, others broke off from the group. Jack had returned empty-handed, as anticipated, so really nothing had changed. Nothing at all. And now the day was over: the longest day of Olivia's life.

The empty spaces they left behind gave path to a breeze. It felt like a wall had been removed, a wall she had been reliant upon for support without knowing it. All of a sudden, she found herself tipping to the side, one knee buckling, as if she had taken a misstep, though she could not recall making any movement on her own. Someone caught her arm. She did not have to look to know who that someone was.

"You alright?" Richard asked.

"I'm fine," she replied, blinking until her vision cleared. "It's been..." She shook her head, rather than finish the sentence.

Jack had also appeared at her side. He scanned her with his doctor's gaze. His lips had become a very thin line, and up close, Olivia could see the purple circles under his eyes. She decided she felt about as good as he looked: like someone had uncorked her and knocked over the bottle; everything was spilling out.

"Why don't you try to get some sleep," he said. "Even if you can't, just rest. Close your eyes."

He had returned empty-handed; so nothing had changed. Everything was just as she had expected and the last few hours had only been a matter of killing time. Then why did it feel like someone had just dealt her a mighty blow? Olivia nodded, eyes already closing.

"Richard, you have a cot," Jack continued. "Would you mind letting Olivia have it tonight?"

"Of course not," came the reply beside her. He was closer to her ear than she realized, and his voice vibrated inside her head. It was not an wholly unpleasant sensation, she appraised. Also not unpleasant were his hands still around her arm: tenacious, but not too tight. Richard was a stronger man than he let on. Minimal pressure was all he needed to apply and Olivia felt quite secure.

Together, they turned away from the fire, the breeze growing cooler straight away. It whistled past her ears. Through the skin of her eyelids, Olivia watched of the world change from orange to blue, as they moved away from the fire. Richard used a few scattered words to guide her in the right direction, his tone subdued; he mostly relied upon the tension of his hand on her arm. She hobbled beside him, floppy like a rag doll. Her mind had reached almost a dreamlike state where she could exaggerate the image of herself until it became comical, where her joints were stitches in cotton duck and her hair was curls of yarn.

"What's so funny?" he asked, and Olivia realized she had chuckled out loud. Instead of an adequate explanation, of which she was not capable, she shook her head, momentarily catching something like a smile playing at the corners of his mouth, as well.

They reached the tent and Olivia forced her eyes to open, and found that they stayed that way. The stars came back into view and the reflection of the moon on the water glittered. While wearing glasses, one thing she had become accustomed to was the impossibility of nighttime without a wide halo around each light, no matter how large or small. The lenses pulled out streamers of light like strands of spaghetti. It was not something she missed. For the first time in her life, she was seeing the stars as they truly were: so singular, so simple, so pure...

She blinked freely, noting that Jack, Kate, and Sawyer were still by the fire, their shapes forming a three-headed figure. For a moment, it struck her that they had the appearance of a single entity, of one person. But it was a dreamy perception and she wasn't sure she cared for it. Olivia scowled and shook her head to clear it. She noticed Richard was no longer at her arm, but had untied the flaps of the tent and stepped aside, pulling the entranceway apart to grant her passage.

"Welcome to the Ritz," he said, moving past her to light the lantern at his desk. The flaps fluttered behind them. His tone was dry, but his movements brisk. "I'm sorry, but the cable's out."

"And no mints," she added, gesturing to the lumpy pillow at the head of the cot.

Richard cleared his throat, crossing the room to the steamer trunk by the door. "I do have things like undershirts and socks, in case you want something clean to sleep in. That's about all I can offer you. And books."

"Where are you going to sleep?" she asked.

"Outside." The funny sort of half-smile reappeared.

"Okay. But you can't blame me for putting you out."

Richard shook his head. "Don't worry about that."

"I know Jack asked you to do this, but-"

He cut in, one hand directing her to take a seat and stop protesting, "I'm ashamed of myself for not offering it first. Please."

Olivia pressed her lips together, nodding in acquiescence. The cot creaked under her weight, slight though she had become since landing on the Island. She patted the mattress with her palms and nodded again in gratitude.

"Obviously, the less you move, the less noise it makes," he said.

"I have a feeling I'll pass out in about five minutes."

"There's a Spanish idiom that translates, there is no bed too hard for a tired man."

At this, he chuckled. He was lingering by the entranceway, arms folded, shifting his weight from one leg to the other. His head hung low between his shoulders, as if there was something at his feet worth interest. Olivia felt her palms grow a little colder. She moved them to her lap, running them across the hem of her shorts. When she looked at him again, his smile was gone, gone completely. Every feature seemed to have dropped, fallen to its lowest point. The clammy feeling crawled up her arms and lifted the hair on the back of her neck.

"Is everything okay?" she asked.

Richard's head snapped upward, his eyes flashing for an instant. "Everything's fine." But his frown remained firmly in place, like it had been drawn there, along with all the lines in his face that accompanied it: thick, dark lines, heavy and growing still.

Whether he wanted her to press him onward, or give him leave, Olivia could not tell: no more than she could divine her own preference. What she supposed she wanted was something in the middle. This much, she was willing to admit, although it was another thing entirely to follow that line of logic and say that she was not ready for him to go. So, when Richard turned around to make his exit, she said nothing. And when he suddenly turned around and re-entered, she said nothing again.

His hand found a place above his head, gripping one of the tent's metal supports. Really, he was half inside, half outside, his body pushing aside one of the flaps, allowing the cool air to re-enter. He surrendered a sigh before speaking, "Listen... Olivia... I feel like I failed you today."

"What do you mean?" Her heart felt like it was beating from a place just behind her collarbone.

"I know there was more I could have done."

"It wasn't anyone's plan to force him," she replied, to which Richard rolled his eyes. "Not even mine. There's nothing you need to apologize for."

"I'll admit, when he pulled that gun out... what I wanted to do was... something I knew I couldn't do in front of you." He dropped his hand, taking a step further inside. The flap of the tent closed behind him like a door. Exterior sounds ceased drifting in. "I wanted to rip him apart. I'm sorry."

The idea of Richard diving for Adam on the hill, of the sound of fists against flesh, and stain of blood on everyone's clothes: it caused the cold chill at the base of Olivia's neck spread into the back of her skull. "It's okay. I'm glad you didn't."

He took another step toward her, so that he was beside the steamer trunk. One hand found a place atop it. He pressed the pads of his fingers against the stretched leather, until the skin under his nails turned white. His face was now within the glow of the lantern, the shadows even more dramatic now that she was looking up from below.

"Honestly, I'm not sure who I would have rooted for," Olivia continued, her voice beginning waver, and she chalked it up to it being so difficult a thing to admit.

"Well, generally I've been treating you-" His voice got stuck in his throat, as she looked at him squarely. "I've been an asshole."

Olivia's hand was quick to block a laugh that erupted without her permission.

"Then you agree?"

"I wasn't expecting you to-it isn't how I would have put it."

Richard stepped away from the trunk, folding his arms. "And how would you have put it?"

"I would have said... you were taking time to figure things out."

Again, his face dropped, and this, she realized, surprised her, though his expression had shifted rather than changed entirely. Now, half read one way, half another, and none of it really discernable, except for the appearance of color at the rim of his prominent cheekbones.

"Something like that." Richard turned away from her, making a little circle, not quite leaving but no longer entirely with her in the room.

Olivia leaned forward, wrapping her fingers around the bed frame below the mattress. She felt her calves tense as she considered rising to her feet, but without any idea what she would do next, there was nothing to do but jut forward at an awkward angle, which she did for a few moments before releasing her hold and beginning the humdrum task of untying her boots.

"Richard," she began. "Would I be right in assuming you know this Ben Linus fairly well?"

He turned around, completing the circle he had paced, once again beside the steamer trunk. "You would be right."

"If Adam is getting himself involved with him, what does that mean, exactly? What's can we expect to happen next?"

"It depends on what he needs Adam for."

"Needs?"

Richard's spine stiffened. He rolled his shoulders and scratched the back of his neck. "Ben wouldn't get involved with anyone unless he needs him to get something done. I wish I could tell you what that something is, but I haven't the faintest idea."

"Oh," Olivia sighed and shook her head. Her voice was almost a whisper as she pulled off one boot, then another. "Adam's... so stupid."

"Then let's hope he doesn't need him for anything too complicated."

She flexed her eyebrows and attempted a little smile that did not quite work. Nothing happened for a second or two. The sound of the waves outside had been muted to a buzz, and the light of the lantern flickered. Olivia tapped her index finger against her bare ankle as she rolled her socks off her toes, exposing a chipped pedicure.

"What did Ben need you for?" she asked, nose still pointed at the ground. It was an attempt to appear nonchalant, as if his response would have no effect on her. Of course, the ruse began to crack the moment she lifted her head. Olivia could almost feel the chips fall around her, until she was bare in front of him. Adam had alluded to deaths at Richard's hand, at innocent blood. Whether or not this information he had gotten from Ben, she did not know, but her brother's knife-like stare had left a wound deep inside, a wound that was beginning to fester.

For Richard's part, his jaw was hanging open slightly, exposing his teeth and the tip of his tongue pressed against them. He seemed to be trying on words. "There isn't an easy way to describe what I did for him."

"I've heard the term mediator tossed around."

"I guess that's a good place to start."

"Between Ben and who? You said he was a child when you met."

"He was. He was just a kid. But he became our leader."

"Then you must have been a kid, too."

"If you want the whole story, it goes back further than Ben... he sort of usurped the leadership role." His gaze drifted away to a non-physical spot on the wall.

"What did he become the leader of?"

He shrugged, eyes still looking past the wall. "There's a long, sordid history of people who've spent their lives believing they were protecting this Island."

"Protecting it from what?"

"That's open to interpretation."

Olivia frowned. "It feels like you're avoiding my questions."

His ire had begun to grow, along with the volume of his voice. "You're asking me things that I'm not very comfortable talking about."

"Why?"

"Because it's difficult to admit-" He caught himself and shook his head. "Difficult to admit some of these things, that I was involved with certain things and people." The air in the tent had become humid, solid, almost like another entity among them. Richard ran the back of his hand across his forehead. "Aren't there things you've done, that you'd rather not talk about?"

She swallowed and found that a lump had grown in her throat. "Of course. But wouldn't it be better if you knew there was someone you could trust with those things?"

"Believe me, you don't want to be that person."

Not only had her throat begun to tighten, but her jaw, as well. Olivia pushed herself further back on the bed. "But I'm not asking you what you think I want. I'm telling you what I have, which is a partial story. I've gotten parts from everyone else on the Island, and I'm trying to give you the chance to either clarify it or change it... or let me go on piecing it together myself."

He turned his head away, the angle so great than it was the back of his ear that faced her now. She could see beads of sweat forming on his hair. They reflected the light of the lantern like pinpoints.

"Because this, this island, is my life now," she went on, voice still shaking, but the words finding their way all the same. "I'm not asking you to be a major part of it, I'm asking you if you want to be part of it at all."

"I wouldn't have gone with you today if I didn't."

"Then you don't have to tell me what you did. Just tell me that you want to-"

Without any sort of warning, the tent went pitch black, followed by the sizzle of a smoldering wick. The scent of carbon trickled into the air, while a zap of fear, like electricity, flew through her body. Olivia was on her feet right away, just missing Richard as he crossed to the desk, murmuring about oil. She squeezed her eyes shut in the hope than when she opened them, the faint light coming through the cracks in the seams would be stronger, but the interior of the tent only went from black to navy blue.

"It's just out of oil," came Richard's voice, still beside the desk. "There are a couple of bottles in the steamer."

Olivia began to feel around for her position, finding the top of the trunk with relative ease. The latch was a little more difficult to locate. By the time she found it, there was already another hand turning the lock: the skin was clammy, but the fingers nimble. She pulled her hand back to a safe spot against her chest.

Finally the lid of the trunk creaked as the shape of something dark in the general area began to rise. Then followed a series of hisses, a spark, and a mechanical scraping sound. A little flame appeared, illuminating Richard's fingertips, and simultaneously revealing a wide, metallic cigarette lighter. It was dented and worn, and where once there had been a label was now a peeling sticker. The light lasted less time than Olivia could count. The room went dark again, followed by a few more hisses, and finally she felt the lighter being pressed into her hand.

"See if you can get this to work," he said.

Richard began to dig through the trunk, the muted sounds of rustling fabric filling the little space between them as Olivia began to fiddle with the lighter. Instead of a flint wheel, there was a lever at the top. After several false starts, the flame reappeared. Olivia cupped it with her hand to encourage its growth and leaned closer to the trunk. Richard bit his lip, digging almost feverishly. Time was against him, as the light began to dim.

A sensation of deja vu crept up on her. It tip-toed up her spine.

It felt like she was genuinely recalling this image before her, from a previous time: Richard's tense, dark forearms, the point of his chin and nose, the steamer trunk itself. Olivia forced her eyes to a different object to break the spell, to prove there was no possibility that this was an actual recollection, that she was simply over-tired. The only thing in view was the lighter in her hand. She read the few words that remained on the peeling label: Colibri, the brand name; 1939, the year.

"You know," she began. "Don't worry about it. I don't need it. I'll just go to sleep."

She could hear him sigh as the light disappeared. The flame in her hand died. The digging continued.

"Well, here it is anyway..." There was the clink of glass against glass, and the bubble of encased liquid. "Where's the lighter?"

She returned it. The air shifted as he crossed the area, the humidity billowing around her like a gel. She took it upon herself to close the lid of the steamer, as Richard replaced the oil and struggled for another light. The lantern began to glow from behind her. Richard commented that at least they knew that it worked. "Which is more than I can say for this lighter," he finished.

"I'm surprised it still works at all," she said.

"I only use it to light the lantern. I don't think I'm going to be able to replace it any time soon."

He remained by the desk a moment longer, with Olivia partially seated on the trunk. "It's such a handsome lighter, though," she commented. "I doubt you'll find one as nice."

"It's served me well," he replied.

Chit chat. They were back to chit chat. Olivia was not sure it was as step in the direction she wanted. She struggled to remember her last words before the interruption. In the midst of the lull he asked her if she wanted the lantern off after all, she told him she was ready to sleep, and he extinguished the light with the twist of a tiny knob. The darkness returned. She sighed.

Richard lingered at the desk. She could hear him tapping the wood. He released a sigh to echo hers. A few moments passed very slowly. Other than the tapping and the breathing, he refused to move. Olivia stayed seated upon the steamer trunk, waiting, and wondering for what he could possibly be waiting himself. Interrupted or not, she had said her part. But if he still needed time-and apparently he did-then she supposed she had all the time in the world to give him. He could have all of it.

To be in the same world-for that was what the Island was, its own compact world-with him, forever... when had this desire first begun? From what event had it sprung? Was it possible that she somehow had missed the specific tick when this love had been born, only to realize now and all at once. Concealed in the darkness, Olivia shook her head, bewildered and perplexed. She had not expected love could possibly feel so unlike romance. It had come with no angelic choir, no flowers, no tradition of any sort; she wondered when she had even grown capable of recognizing it, and even wondered a little whether or not Richard truly deserved it. He had done so much to dissuade her; yet she continued to hope against hope, and had even been happy to suffer every hurt he had so carelessly inflicted upon her. She loved him despite himself.

Yes. Her time, he could have it. But what, exactly, was he waiting for now, she worried. Was there something he was preparing to say or something left to do? Olivia's chest began to ache from holding her breath. Something important about to happen, wasn't it? Her heart was fluttering.

He took in a longer, more pronounced breath.

"Well, goodnight," he said.

The bottom dropped out. Olivia rose to stand, and as her foot bumped against the steamer trunk she thought for a moment that it might be her heart she was kicking around.

She could hear the disembodied sounds of his crossing through the space in the dark. Olivia stepped aside to create a clear path. "Goodnight," she repeated.

When Richard's body impacted with hers, it was enough to sweep her legs. At once, his hands were upon her arms like cuffs, strong and steady, though she felt more dizzy than ever. Her face flushed in secret, embarrassed and thrilled. She waited for him to let go. Waited. And waited. His hold was tight. He gave no apology. He made no sound at all. But she could feel his chest bump against hers and the warm breath from his nostrils against her forehead. She did not need light to understand him.

He lowered himself to her height, which she could tell by nothing more than the journey of his breath down the length of her face. It was like standing in the presence of a ghost, including the trembling. They were eye-to-invisible-eye. Truly, it was so dark that there was no difference whatsoever, but closing her eyes came naturally. She listened to the sticky sounds of him clearing s throat and swallowing. Her lips began to tingle. They were inches apart. No. Less.

His lips were rougher than she expected. The stubble of his mustache was a little uncomfortable. He smelled like salt water and sweat and tasted the same. Olivia's knees seemed to disappear beneath her, while everything else rocketed skyward. She felt as though she was standing at the edge of a cliff, miles above the sea, and that she might plummet any minute. The world reeled and spun. She felt dizzy and nauseous.

It was wonderful.

It was actually happening, though it seemed beyond belief that he could possibly be allowing it to happen. After so many parries and sidesteps, their sword fight had reached its climax. Face-to-face, she had siezed the opportunity to tear off his mask and discovered that the continence it protected had such eyes for her and her alone. She had never been a fool to wonder and hope. It was all happening. She was kissing him-and how!-and he was-

But he was not kissing her. Not at all. Their lips were pressed together, but there was ice in his blood. Richard had not fallen into sync with her caresses. He was motionless in her arms. She had been kissing a statue.

Olivia fell from the cliff, missing the water and striking the rocks.

If the room still had air, it passed through her open mouth unbidden. She lacked the strength to pull it into her lungs. There was a buzzing in her ears, like wind whistling through a vacant cave. Richard's hands had fallen from her shoulders and he had stepped backward; how far, she could not guess. She stared straight through his invisible body, through darkness into darkness.

Forcing her jaw to close and forcing a dry gulp, she found the only words she still seemed to remember, rattling in her empty skull. "I'm so sorry..."

But the tent flap behind her was billowing in the wind. He was already gone.

* * *

The fire was dying. In fact, it was all but dead. The fingers of a smokey glow stretched as far as the edge of the jungle, illuminating a framework of bamboo sticks and leaves: a new kitchen. Hurley had been making plans to see what was left in the DHARMA pantry, but they were on hold as of today. A much more slender figure moved between the unfinished shelves, running her fingers across the knobby countertop.

Kate ached all over, but hardly any of it was physical. Her heart was heavy. She was losing the battle against the urge to repeatedly place herself in Olivia's shoes and experience what the poor girl had been put through. Each time she succumbed to the temptation, her spirit came a little closer to its familiar breaking point. But it was Adam she wanted to snap like a twig.

She shook her head, moving a little further into the shadows as the countertop turned the corner. Her fingers absentmindedly traced the curves and notches in the bamboo.

Tomorrow, it would be a month since she had last held baby Aaron-if she was counting correctly. The reasons she had for returning to the Island seemed more and more like a fool's errand. Claire had no interest in coming home and it was very likely she would never hold her son again.

Kate missed a step, unsure if she had meant those last thoughts for Claire or herself. Her heart sank somehow further.

She came to the end of the unfinished countertop and stared into the black jungle. She struggled to comfort herself, knowing that Claire had not been lost forever. She had only been scared away. The setback would ultimately be only temporary. Besides, how could Kate, in good conscience, reassure Olivia about her brother if she had lost all hope in her own cause? And Kate knew that the more she cared, the poorer she became at lying to those she cared about. She could only hope that tomorrow might bring a new opportunity for the girl.

But that hope was immediately to be destroyed.

"Listen, Kate, there's something we need to talk about."

Jack's voice turned her with a start. He had crept up on her, and from the look of it, not unintentionally. Sawyer was right behind him. The grave expression on his face was haunting as he escaped the smoldering firelight.

"What's wrong?" she asked.

Jack cast a look over his shoulder at Sawyer before beginning. "When you saw Adam... are you sure it was him?"

Kate's eyes moved from Jack to Sawyer and back again. "I'm sorry-what?"

It was Sawyer who finally informed her, holding his ground behind Jack, seemingly frozen in place. "We found him in the Dharma grave. Dead. I'm sorry, there's no easy way to say it. You weren't talking to Adam."

She took the news like a punch to the stomach and an uppercut to the jaw. "He's dead? Why didn't you say anything? Why didn't you tell Olivia?" Her questions were interspersed with gasps for air. Kate reached for the countertop for support.

Jack lifted his hands to his hips. He looked back toward the camp, in the direction of Richard's tent. "We're suddenly in the middle of a very sensitive situation."

"Surprise surprise..." breathed Sawyer.

"Olivia deserves to know. Why are you telling me first?"

Jack moved in, lowering his voice. "Kate, you need to tell us everything he said to you today."

She swallowed hard against the constricting muscles of her throat. "He said he was following Ben. We tried to convince him that he was making a mistake, but he said that he didn't trust us anymore and that he had changed his mind about wanting Olivia to come with him... and he made some kind of threat toward Richard. He seemed like he knew something about Richard's past..."

Kate's voice trailed off as she shook her head, recalling Adam's cold, fierce eyes and his venomous tongue. She had been right to think something very strange about the entire encounter; not just strange, but malevolent and otherworldly. She could see it all very clearly, now. Her head snapped up. "He's after Olivia, isn't he?"

She jolted forward as if she was bursting out of herself. Jack's strong hands stayed her, but with some difficulty.

"We don't know what he's after," he said. "We're safe on the beach."

"For how long?"

Jack did not pretend to have an answer. "But there's no point in telling her tonight. Kate, what would we even say?"

Kate pulled at her hair, brushing it back with her palm. Already there was sweat collecting on her brow. "What about Adam? We can't just leave him there?"

Sawyer looked away. Jack tightened his hold on her shoulders, and she could not deny that she wanted him to pull her close and wrap her up in his arms. But that time had passed. It felt like everyone was running out of time. She rolled her shoulders and his hands dropped.

"Kate, no one is against you," he said. "For now, this needs to stay a secret. Just the three of us."

"Why?" Out of the corner of her eye, she watched Richard exit his tent. Olivia remained inside, hopefully sound asleep or close to it. "We should at least tell Richard."

Jack shook his head. "Why?"

"Because he's close with her."

Sawyer cocked an eyebrow, visible as he turned to catch a glimpse of the beach. "What makes you think he knows anything more than we do? We don't even know she's the one who needs protecting," Sawyer replied. "What stopped _him_ from taking her today? And besides, I'm not sure how interested I am in this side plot. In case you forgot, we're in the middle of a life-or-death situation of our own-"

Jack held up a hand to silence him. It failed to accomplish much.

"This whole thing feels like one big distraction," Saywer hissed. "You two want to keep on fishing for this red herring, go ahead. The rest of us got bigger fish to fry."

He turned on his heel and kicked up sand as he strutted away. Kate moved to chase him, catching Jack's motion to halt her out of the corner of her eye and stilled herself before he had the chance.

"Just let him go, Kate. You know how he feels about Richard."

Kate rolled her eyes. "How do you feel about him, Jack?"

Jack lifted his hands back to his hips, nodding with a bitter grin. She knew she had poked a sore spot. She had no regrets.

"What do you want me to say?" he asked. "It doesn't matter what I think. Richard's... not one of us, Kate. And he's not interested in being one of us."

She pushed past him. The contact was brief. The sound their clothing made was a light scraping, like leaves rustling.

"Well," she said. "You certainly don't try to make it any easier for him."


End file.
